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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956516">Take These Tower Stones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut'>hermitknut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Keystone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputation, Canon Continuation, Discussion of Grief, F/M, Fade to Black, Found Family, Grief, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Burn, Vee relationship, an entire household full of mother hens, but will stay in line with canon, discussion of loss of a parent, multiple POVs, will warn specifically in chapter notes where appropriate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:35:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>57,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Edrehasivar VII has survived the first few months of his reign, and his household with him. But it doesn't stop there. With a bridge to build, his marriage on the horizon, and the reigns of an empire in his hands, will Edrehasivar forge a new way for the Ethuveraz, or will he be consumed by it?</p><p>The sequel to the now-completed 'The Stairs Beneath the Heart', this should also be readable on its own. Posting every Tuesday.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Csethiro Ceredin/Maia Drazhar, Csevet Aisava/Maia Drazhar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Keystone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>584</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>235</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - A Turn In The Weather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrehasivar VI, 182<sup>nd</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>A lesser-known emperor to the average elf, Edrehasivar VI’s reign was both peaceful and largely prosperous. He oversaw a number of diplomatic successes, none dramatic, but all laying the foundations for the security that would empower many of his successors in their various ventures. Notably, his quiet political overtures to the Hasperin nobles in the south of Barizhan were fundamental in acquiring the prodigious amount of stone, marble and otherwise, that were needed to build the current Untheileneise Court several generations later.</p><p>He died at the age of ninety-seven, after a reign of thirty-one years, and was peacefully succeeded by his eldest son. He is, as of yet, the last Edrehasivar to rule, and with the recent change to <em>varen-</em> as an imperial prefix this is likely to remain the case.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>Csethiro Ceredin closed the book, being sure to leave the ribbon in the correct place so that she could find the entry again. She kept returning to it, feeling as though there must be some kind of answer in the brief summary. <em>Helcoru’s Guide</em> was an old standard, found in almost every classroom, listing every emperor and his achievements in a short entry. Some shorter than others. Perhaps she should look in the library for a more thorough account of Edrehasivar VI’s reign? But perhaps that was a little much; perhaps there was nothing more to the current emperor’s choice of cognomen than a rejection of his father, perhaps it had been a random selection, an ‘anything but <em>that</em>’.</p><p>Frustrated, she sat down on the settee with rather less dignity than her father would approve of, her brows furrowed.  </p><p>Csethiro Ceredin had never been prone to either doubt or surprise. But that had been before the crash of the <em>Wisdom of Choharo</em> and the death of Varenechibel IV and his three eldest sons - and more to the point, before the ascension to the throne of Edrehasivar VII and his subsequent selection of <em>her</em> as his Empress-to-be.</p><p>The selection itself hadn't been particularly surprising. She knew the court inside out and was well aware that there were only two truly suitable options, and she was one of them. It was possible that the new emperor, unstable as he reputedly was, would select a less appropriate wife – but did he not have advisors? And would they not, faced with any lack of suitability in their emperor, steer him towards a compensating force in the form of a court-experienced wife?</p><p>Therefore, events had proceeded in, if not an entirely predictable fashion, then certainly an unsurprising one.</p><p>She had resolved herself quite quickly to the circumstances. She had known for her entire life that her marriage was both inevitable and entirely out of her hands. And after all, “empress” was hardly a title to complain about, and had the added advantage of being a title that Csoru no longer held. The rumours of the emperor’s instability and inappropriate attitudes caused her to tighten her jaw whenever she heard them, but what was she but entirely capable? She would handle the situation, whatever it was.</p><p>As a matter of fact, she had so inured herself to the idea of being married to a fool or a madman that she received her first true shock in realising that her future husband might, perhaps, be nothing of the sort.</p><p>The personal letter from him had told her nothing, being a short missive with little to recommend to it saving the clear penmanship. She could not make head nor tale of his intentions, and so composed a suitably neutral reply and tried to put it out of her mind. And there was the formal meeting, and the exchange of oath-rings, both briskly efficient as expected. Only Edrehasivar’s obvious unease jarred, and Csethiro turned it over and over in her mind afterwards, wondering where that came from. He had selected the match apparently with little fuss; perhaps he already had a lover, tucked away somewhere, and was afraid she would find out? She knew she could be practical about that – in a court full of political marriages it was relatively acceptable for either party to find love or sate lust elsewhere, provided one was suitably discreet. But Edrehasivar had not been at court long, and hardly seemed socially at ease enough to seek out such a thing.</p><p>She toyed with the idea that he was marnis, and nervous to be wed to a woman. In that case she could, at least partially, sympathise – she had never been one to see why people had such strong preferences between men and women, and had found herself attracted to both. And certainly any woman at court knew what it was to consider marriage to someone she felt no draw to. But there was not enough information to be sure.</p><p>Lurking in the back of her mind, at all times, was the idea that there was something… wrong… with him. Rumour never expressed precisely what this something might be, but his exile in combination with people wishing to evade being caught speaking ill of the dead had led to a great deal of speculation as to Varenechibal’s reasons for keeping his youngest son far away from court. His time in the south was understandable – one would not separate a child so young from his mother – but after Chenelo Drazharan’s funeral, to pack the boy up and send him to the back of beyond before anyone could do more than glimpse him? It was very suggestive, and not in a positive way. But the trouble was that no one was <em>certain</em> of <em>anything</em>.</p><p>In any case, her first encounter in any real sense with the emperor was at one of Nurevis Chavar’s ubiquitous parties. They were fairly unobjectionable affairs, as it was relatively easy for her to find her own circle of like-minded ladies and the occasional gentleman, and avoid everyone else. But that did not mean that she was not watching the rest of the room carefully – she was, in all things, a courtier. And she noticed Min Vechin’s persistent attention to the emperor. Predictable, of course – many people wanted things of the emperor, and she found nothing particularly against Min Vechin in her behaviour. Rather, the more she saw, the more frustrated with Edrehasivar she grew. He had no idea, clearly. He looked relieved whenever Min Vechin returned to him, and was far too attentive to her words. Perhaps he thought she loved him. In which case, the lady really did have an unfair advantage. Edrehasivar was obviously out of his depth, and the courtiers around him were more interested in watching with amusement than going to his aid – and without aid, he would undoubtedly make a fool of himself (and by extension, Csethiro herself) in short order.</p><p>The thought was too much to bear. <em>If I am to have a fool for a husband, I shall start as I mean to proceed. </em>And so, after the fourth little conversation between the Min Vechin and Edrehasivar had concluded, Csethiro allowed the irritation to draw to a hot point inside her chest, did her best not to stalk as she approached the emperor, curtsied, and made her stand.</p><p>The moment came back to her in the night for days afterwards, hot and pink and radiating embarrassment.</p><p>
  <em>‘How stupid you must believe us to be, to think we are unable to discern that for ourself. We thank you.’</em>
</p><p>It was the tone as much as the words – not disdainful, nor dismissive, but restrained anger masking genuine hurt. In a single line, her understanding of him and the situation inverted. She should have known better than to listen to rumours and treat them as truth – had she not been at court for her entire life? That was not the voice of a fool, nor of a madman. ‘Twas bitter, in truth, but had she not just treated him like a child for no good reason? If <em>she</em> were newly come to court and all that spread about her was gossip that had her as unstable and stupid, would she not be bitter herself? If no one reached out to her in any substantial way, would she not make the most of the company of a woman who made an effort, even if it was for some secondary intent?</p><p>She had handled the matter as gracefully as she could in the moment, she felt, and hence after stewed for some time on the way to make it up to him. Her first action was to return to the rumours, turning a critical eye on them now, seeing where they came from and how they lacked any real substance to them. All <em>one hears that</em> and <em>it can only be supposed </em>– and half of them, she suspected after some investigation, came from either Csoru Zhasanai or Sheveän Drazharan. So that cleared <em>that</em> up.</p><p>What did she know, then, that wasn’t malicious gossip and unsubstantiated guesses? Very little.</p><p>She considered their exchange from all angles. The emperor had sounded tired, as well he might, considering recent events; but it was not simple weariness. He was withdrawn, too, and unsurprised by her rebuke of him. He was unhappy, then.</p><p>He had lost much of his family, it was true. He had worn full mourning at the funeral, and behaved respectfully – but one of the rumours that Csethiro suspected had a grain of truth in was that he felt no grief for the loss of his father and brothers. Given that he could not have met them more than… perhaps once?... and that his father was responsible for the relegation of himself and his mother, she felt that was entirely reasonable. She too, was not particularly fond of her father, though she held no particular grievance against him – he was simply at too formal a distance for her to have become close to. And that was the way of it.</p><p>Isolated, and unhappy, and not as much of a fool as everyone was inclined to believe. Already, she was considerably more inclined to take his side in matters. And so as events proceeded, she paid rapt attention.</p><p>She listened to rumours, maintaining a careful vagueness in response which indicated that she in fact, as the empress-to-be, knew more than she was letting on. She began to play more of the dutiful daughter to her father, knowing he could be long-winded but informative about politics if he had a captive audience. In quiet moments she perused the family library for information on Barizheise culture, in the thought that Edrehasivar’s mother’s influence on him might be substantial.</p><p>In all of this, she gathered little that was substantial, but much that she considered intriguing.</p><p>The emperor had had his nohecharei perform the role of guides during the pre-coronation rituals, as opposed to members of his family. This seemed to have been interpreted by many as primarily a terrible sign of the emperor's lack of propriety. Csethiro looked up the ceremony, which specified the persons in question should be ‘those men held in greatest trust’ by the ascending emperor. It did not take much consideration for her to conclude that “most trusted” would be a lie if applied to members of one's family whom one had never met, evidently did not apply to Setheris Nelar, and certainly <em>should</em> apply to nohecharei who performed their duties correctly. So, scandalous in that it appeared to break with tradition; upon closer inspection, eminently sensible.</p><p>The emperor was not sociable; his dinner partners in the evening noted he had no gift for conversation, and anyone who had been at one of Nurevis Chavar's parties could attest to the same. <em>Edrehasivar Half-Tongue</em> was the sobriquet that went around those less sympathetic, referring not only to his lack of conversational art but also to the intermittent slips in formality and manner that he was prone to. However, the more sympathetic voices noted the emperor's kindness - he was said to be forgiving of others' slips, an earnest listener, and not known for harsh words. Although she herself had been the recipient of some sharpness, Csethiro was inclined to be more interested in the sympathetic, if only because they were less dismissive and therefore more likely to provide more information. Besides, she felt she had earned that sharp retort from Edrehasivar under the circumstances, and did not begrudge him.</p><p>The details of the attempted coup took some time to solidify, exaggerated as they were by alarm and speculation (as well as the not inconsiderable fear that the emperor’s retribution might reach innocent parties, a fear that seemed so far to be unfounded). And the trial was yet to take place, postponed until after the state visit. But Csethiro gleaned that the Prince of the Untheileneise Court, Idra Drazhar, had refused to accept his uncle’s usurpation, and in doing so had caused enough of a delay to allow the intervention of the Untheileneise Guard. Whether that was due to any affection towards his uncle or simply an awareness of the survival rate of child-emperors was unknown. More would undoubtedly be revealed at trial, but that would be some time yet. Csethiro, growing more attached to “her” emperor the more she investigated, dashed off a hasty letter in her indignation at the behaviour of Chavar and Shevean, and then spent the hours after sending it worrying that it was a mistake. Edrehasivar’s response seemed positive, but stilted, and once more she struggled to read his mood.  </p><p>The Alcethmeret staff were as tight-lipped as they ever had been in Varenechibal's reign, so that was a no-go. However, there was at least one newcomer with a less salubrious and therefore more accessible past.</p><p>Csevet Aisava, the imperial secretary.</p><p>The Ceredada kept a courier in pay, of course, as all of the higher houses did. Csethiro and her sisters knew who he was – their father would never tell them, but as the four of them were insatiably curious and familiar with every nook and cranny of their family quarters, very little could be kept from them for long. Accessing the sort of information she wanted without alerting her father, however, was a little tricky. In the end, she involved two sisters in the endeavour, and they gently and indirectly manoeuvred their father into enquiring himself. The results came back within a day or so and yielded a flood of trivia, the significance of which was uncertain. The usual rumour about couriers appeared to be true, Mer Aisava having had one or two dalliances with other male couriers. Unremarkable, and inoffensive at court. He came from some unnamed village in the north of Thu-Athamar, towards the eastern edge of the Osreialhalan, and he was a year younger than Csethiro herself. He did not make any regular contact with any family, but a portion of his pay was sent back there, presumably to a relative. He did not appear to have any current lovers. He had been employed by Edrehasivar upon the new emperor's arrival at court, and since then had by all accounts kept an impeccable reputation and performed his duties flawlessly, becoming well-liked by his undersecretaries.</p><p>And there the trail ended. Save for sending out investigators to Edrehasivar’s two previous residences, which she did not have the means to do and besides would be immediately noticed and thought inappropriate, there was nothing else she could think of. Sat in the corner of the library, she nearly reached for <em>Helcoru’s Guide</em> again, but prevented herself. The Great Avar was expected to arrive in two days, and there would be enough social occasions to dizzy even the most experienced courtier. She would find another opportunity to speak to Edrehasivar. She just wished she could be more prepared.</p><p>~</p><p>Several weeks passed, not without remark. An assassination attempt was hardly the normal order of business, but it took out a swathe of unpleasant nobles <em>and</em> appeared to solve the puzzle of the airship crash, so at least it marked some sort of resolution. Csethiro tried to take heart from that, but it was difficult.</p><p>Brighter, however, was her blossoming relationship with Edrehasivar.</p><p>Conversation while others danced had bloomed into dancing lessons, and the shared intent of the latter seemed to lend Edrehasivar a new, if small, confidence. And it grew; sometimes they spoke for some time before recalling their purpose, standing absurdly in the middle of the near-empty ballroom, Csethiro animate and Edrehasivar – <em>Maia – </em>beginning to be more so. He listened well, and remembered, and inquired again at later dates, and despite her natural caution, she was growing fond of him.</p><p>A degree of reserve persisted, however – the self-preservation of a woman who had been raised watching the many faces of courtiers change with the wind. Edrehasivar certainly <em>seemed</em> to be honest, and kind, and considerate; but by all accounts marriage changed a man, who without the need for pursuit had fewer cares for the well-being of his wife. Best to keep a little guard around her heart for now, then; just for now. Just in case.</p><p>And so she found herself, once again, in her preferred corner seat in the library, <em>Helcoru’s Guide </em>open on her lap to the entry for <em>Edrehasivar VI</em>, staring contemplatively at the fire and trying to reckon with what her life was soon to be. And, of necessity, who she would have to become.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keeping House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrethelema IV, 186<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>One of the four emperors whose reign saw the construction of the current Untheileneise Court, Edrethelema IV had aided his father in its design. Among his contributions were the design of the Alcethmeret nursery, the concept of preventing any overlook of the Alcethmeret gardens, and the style of the floor of the Untheileian. He is also credited with supporting the growth and development of the Mazan’theileian.</p><p>He was noted, during his reign, for his dislike of public appearances, as well as a stronger than typical disdain for the common people. Alongside policies which rewarded the wealthy and often caused disproportionate consequence to the poor, this made him a widely disliked emperor. He reigned for twenty-four years and passed the throne to his son.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>The Alcethmeret tower was a marvel to look at, but one of its downsides was that it was so regrettably exposed to the weather. In the summer, gauze had to be drawn across the windows at all times to mitigate the heat of the sun; in the winter, it was near-impossible to heat properly, the beautiful marble floors aching with cold no matter what was done. And when the thunderstorms came…</p><p>Maia did not doubt that Cala’s eyes would have adjusted well enough by now to make out his outline on the bed, and so he forced himself to lie still and not put his head under the covers like a frightened child. Thunderstorms were harmless – at least to him, in the tower. They couldn’t hurt him. He had loved them as a child, loved how wild they were, loved how his mother’s eyes had lit as she sat beside him and watched the flashes of lightning and taught him to count for the thunder. But ten years in Edonomee and they were just another too-loud noise, jerking him to wakefulness, pulling at something in his gut. If they had been exciting when his mother was there, they were terrifying without her. Besides, loud noises attracted attention. It was safer to be quiet. Loudness meant trouble, and pain, and tears, and –</p><p>Another crack and roll of thunder. He forced himself to focus on his breathing, trying to count it in and out, trying to find some kind of centre. Stupid and childish to be afraid, to be lying here in the dark with eyes wide open and muscles tense, sweating with suppressing the desire to ask Cala to turn on the lamp. He was better than that. He had control. <em>Stupid, ignorant hobgoblin, crying at the storm. Thou art emperor. Shouldst do better.</em></p><p>A flash of lightning, throwing just enough light around the edges of the curtains and into the room that Maia could see it hit the curve of the opposite wall. The thunder that followed was almost immediate.</p><p>
  <em>Tis right on top of thee.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like everything else.</em>
</p><p>He clenched his jaw. Shamefully, he realised he was gripping his left arm in his right like a talisman, his fingers digging into the burn scar. But the sensation helped, a little, and so he did not ease his grip. The storm would pass, and he would sleep, and in the morning things would seem better.</p><p>
  <em>If thou wert not such a coward, they would be better now.</em>
</p><p>He ignored the thought as the thunder rolled again, and went back to trying to count his breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out…</p><p>~</p><p>The next day dawned bright and clear, and he tried to take heart from it, as tired as he was. He was quiet as the edocharei dressed him for the day, and hoped it came across as contemplative rather than exhausted; he hated the thought of worrying them. While they were moving through their routine he turned over current affairs in his mind, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order.</p><p>Preparations for the Wisdom Bridge were in progress and everything seemed to have to pass before the emperor’s eyes – he suspected Pashavar’s hand in that, the Witness for the Judiciate continuing to be displeased with the decision and wishing to ensure the emperor feel every possible consequence of it personally. Truthfully, he was glad of the knowledge, though combined with everything else it was beginning to feel more like drowning than swimming. Still.</p><p>There were half a dozen other minor matters, all equally complex and some more mystifying than others. Maia had given up wondering when he would learn to solve them easily and sufficed with gritted teeth and an increasing ability to work through a headache.</p><p>Lurking beneath all of it, though, like the great salt sharks from the Barizheise wonder-tale, was the upcoming marriage.</p><p>He felt foolish to dread it so much. Dach’osmin Ceredin – <em>Csethiro</em>, occasionally, now – and he were getting along reasonably well. She was a good teacher and good company, and did not seem too distressed about the whole situation. But then, she had had her whole life to prepare for marrying without a choice in the matter. <em>Dutiful, as thou ought to be.</em></p><p>He pushed the thought away as the edocharei finished their work, then thanked them before heading downstairs to breakfast. Perhaps the company of Idra and his sisters would help him cast off the shuttered terror of the night before.</p><p>He had breakfast with Idra, Mireän, and Ino about once a week now, and enjoyed it every time. This time, however, as Mireän told him about what she was learning and Ino made surreptitious silly faces at Beshelar whenever no one else was looking, Maia could not help but notice that Idra was uncharacteristically withdrawn.</p><p>When the time came for them to leave, he sent the two girls on their way with Min Zhavanin but not Idra.</p><p>‘Cousin Idra, will you walk with me?’ he asked gently, and when Idra agreed led him out into the gardens of the Alcethmeret.</p><p>It was a temperate spring morning, and though Maia knew that a mound of paperwork awaited him inside and would only grow larger for the delay, he did not press Idra. He waited a little while, letting the sun ease his tension as they walked. Finally, he spoke.</p><p>‘You do not seem yourself today,’ he remarked.</p><p>Idra, perfectly mannered as always, held back a sigh.</p><p>‘We...’ he began, and then made a small discontented noise. After a long moment, he tried again, his tone firm.</p><p>‘I do not miss mother,’ he said. His expression was hard to read.</p><p>Maia waited, unspeaking, and they had proceeded past a few more flowerbeds before Idra continued.</p><p>‘We were not... she was not...’ He seemed uncomfortable, and finally settled on, ‘we were not close. Truth be told she did not spend time with any of us when not necessary, and so to be without her is… not so different than when she was here.’</p><p>Maia nodded.</p><p>‘I felt similarly about my father’s death,’ he said quietly, and it was a release even now to be able to speak frankly of it. He and Idra had had several conversations along these lines now, each one careful things, but valuable. Maia tried to find a way through the way he felt to words that would suit it, and continued hesitantly.</p><p>‘Though I felt… less than kindly disposed towards him, due to his… decisions about my mother. So perhaps a better comparison would be to my brothers, to whom I was never introduced and knew nothing of. I miss, to a degree, the idea of them – what they could have been to me. But it is hard to miss what one has never experienced, no matter that one feels one ought to.’</p><p>Idra nodded slowly, thoughtfully.</p><p>‘Twas unfair of him to send you away,’ he said, quietly but with the indignant certainty of youth. ‘And Empress Chenelo.’</p><p>Maia gave a one-shouldered shrug, very un-emperor like, and saw Idra suppress a smile at the informality.</p><p>‘But it was what he did,’ Maia said quietly. ‘An he hadn’t, perhaps I would also have been aboard the <em>Wisdom of Choharo</em>.’</p><p>It was a strange, dark little thought that he had never spoken aloud before, and he heard Cala’s subtle intake of breath from behind him.</p><p>‘Then I would have been on the throne,’ Idra said, and he did not need to say anything beyond that for the two of them to wince. Maia, they both knew, was all that stood between Idra and the life – and likely, if history was anything to go by, early death – of a boy emperor.</p><p>‘Life twists and turns like the wind,’ Maia said, knowing it to be a trite saying but having no other words.</p><p>‘Yes.’</p><p>They walked a little further on.</p><p>‘I do not miss her, but I miss… I miss the way we were when she was here. She and father.’</p><p>Maia nodded. And then, because he was curious even though it stung, and because it seemed the appropriate moment, he said, ‘What was your father like?’</p><p>Idra gave a small smile.</p><p>‘He was… a good father,’ he said. ‘He was very direct, and he didn’t like nonsense or people who changed their position to the most advantageous all the time. But he thought people were important – he would ask what we had learned, and he would listen. I think… I think he would have liked you.’</p><p>Maia took a moment to focus on his breathing, allowing the feelings that had risen to flow in and out with each breath. Once he felt steadier, he spoke.</p><p>‘I wish I had had a chance to meet him,’ he said softly.</p><p>There was silence between them for a few minutes, but it felt peaceful.</p><p>‘Edonomee must have been… it is very isolated, is it not?’</p><p>Another swell of feelings, but these were quite different. Maia took his time and picked his words carefully, hoping the tension in his jaw was not visible.</p><p>‘Very much so,’ he said.</p><p>‘Did you have friends there? I thought –’ Idra silenced himself abruptly, and Maia raised an eyebrow at him.</p><p>‘Go on?’</p><p>Idra looked a little uncertain, but he seemed to trust that Maia was not likely to rebuke him too harshly.</p><p>‘I thought – it is known that you are very courteous to your household here, and that is a Barizheise tradition, yes? To treat the household as an extension of your family.’</p><p>‘It is,’ Maia agreed.</p><p>‘I thought perhaps you might have been friends with members of the household in Edonomee, also.’</p><p>Maia understood why Idra had hesitated – another courtier might have been offended by the implication of such a breach of social class. But there was no sense in being untruthful, and he saw no reason to be offended by Idra’s logic.</p><p>‘That is well-deduced,’ he said, ‘though in this case untrue. I was not close to anyone at Edonomee.’</p><p>‘How many were there in the household?’</p><p>‘Oh, very few. The groundsman and house servant, then the cook and her two daughters who came in each day from the nearest village. And myself and my guardian, of course.’</p><p>He knew that Cala and Beshelar were paying very close attention, and fought a shiver of shame that they knew exactly what he was so carefully concealing from Idra.</p><p>
  <em>‘Tis not a matter to be concerned with. ‘Tis over and done with now.</em>
</p><p>‘So few.’</p><p>Maia, in searching for a way to turn the subject without being too obvious, suddenly thought he might know the shape of Idra’s troubles. Best to approach it obliquely, perhaps...</p><p>‘It is very different here, of course,’ he ventured. ‘I am snowed under by people. Some of whom I enjoy very good conversation with,’ he added, catching Idra’s eye to ensure his meaning was clear.</p><p>Idra’s smile was of pleased surprise, and it made him briefly look younger than fourteen. <em>Fifteen come the autumn, </em>Maia thought to himself, and made a mental note to check with Csevet for Idra’s birthday so as to mark it properly. <em>And what of Csethiro? Thy wife’s birthday, it will be before then.</em> He pushed the thought away.</p><p>‘I am glad, cousin,’ Idra returned, and Maia smiled a little.</p><p>‘What of you?’ he said, looking forwards again to give Idra a little privacy in which to think. ‘I confess I know little of what it is to be raised at court – do you see friends, when you are not at lessons?’</p><p>They had performed two gentle circuits of the garden, and Maia allowed them to come to a halt in the centre, watching the fountain.</p><p>‘We used to,’ Idra said, using the plural to include his sisters. ‘But… mother arranged matters. Min Zhavanin tries, but she does not have as many connections, and some of the families are… uncertain of us.’</p><p>‘Because of your mother,’ Maia said, the guilt waylaying him like a thunderous cloud. Yes, Sheveän had brought matters upon herself, but it was he who was left holding the cut threads, and he had responsibilities that he evidently had not been meeting.</p><p>‘Yes,’ Idra answered softly.</p><p>Maia sighed. He had not intended for his meetings with Idra and his sisters to be a secret, but evidently they had not been gossiped about in any great manner – easy to be so, he realised, when all that was required for a visit was movement <em>within</em> the Alcethmeret. Which meant most of the court would be uncertain of the terms that the three of them were on with the emperor. Well. Perhaps that could be remedied in a similarly indirect manner.</p><p>‘I am sorry that I did not realise this earlier,’ Maia offered, and Idra looked startled.</p><p>‘Tis not your fault, cousin,’ he said earnestly. ‘I… I did not really notice it so much to begin, and in truth it was…’ he hesitated, and Maia watched him straighten his spine before continuing. ‘It was a relief to be hidden away in the midst of… the trial, and the aftermath. I was glad to be spared that, and doubly so for Ino and Mireän. It is only in the last week or so…’</p><p>Maia thought this might be understating the time a little, but he was grateful for Idra’s words nonetheless.</p><p>‘Nevertheless, I think it is something that is overdue mending,’ he said. ‘I suspect the easiest way to assure the court that is safe to spend time with you is for the emperor’s approval to be confirmed; what do you think would be the best way to go about such a thing?’</p><p>He knew he could ask Csevet, but he wanted to hear what Idra thought.</p><p>Idra considered this carefully, and Maia could tell that he was taking the opportunity to advise the emperor very seriously.</p><p>‘You might simply make a statement,’ he said, after a little while. ‘But it is unsubtle, and our tutor says that in a court full of subtleties a direct statement is often taken as the implication of a hidden agenda.’</p><p>Maia nodded thoughtfully.</p><p>‘A wise comment, and one I would agree with,’ he said, and then allowed Idra to continue to think, watching the water in the fountain as it flowed. It must have been designed to be soothing, but its endless motion only reminded Maia of the endless flow of work, waiting for him inside.</p><p>
  <em>Listen to Idra. Stop sinking into distractions.</em>
</p><p>‘More subtle would be for us to be seen together, but none of us are of age to be presented to court,’ Idra continued slowly. ‘Ino and Mireän are far too young for the most part, but I – there are some events that those my age may attend, an we are invited.’</p><p>Maia had wondered about this; he had not encountered anyone Idra’s age or younger save the unfortunate Dach’osmin Tethimin, but he knew they could not be entirely hidden away at all times.</p><p>‘What kind of events would those be?’ he asked curiously.</p><p>‘If one holds a small, personal party – with only a few guests – hosted in one’s family quarters. Then it is expected that any children will make at least a brief appearance, and those old enough to know their forms and manners may join the conversation for a short while.’</p><p>For the hundredth time, Maia wished he had the comfort of the knowledge that even Idra had – this was among the endless number of details that he knew he was missing, even with Csevet’s dedicated help, dinners with Arbelan Zhasanai, and Lord Berenar’s careful teaching.</p><p>‘Then I shall speak to Csevet and consider something of that nature,’ he said, pushing past the dread of not just having to <em>attend </em>a social event but to <em>host </em>it, with all the weight of its success on his own ability to… whatever it was that effortlessly sociable people <em>did.</em> He could manage such a thing for the sake of Idra and his sisters. And perhaps it would even be enjoyable, if he could control who was to attend… though undoubtedly he would have to be carefully impartial in such a selection, lest he seem to favour some over others in an unfair way.</p><p>Idra was perceptive enough to realise that this was not exactly Maia’s area of expertise, and it showed in the gratitude in his voice.</p><p>‘I am sure it would be delightful – and on behalf of my sisters as well as myself, I thank you. It is most kind of you, Cousin Maia.’</p><p>~</p><p>Later that evening, it was warm and snug in the Upper Alcethmeret kitchen.</p><p>Cala listened to the household meeting with half an ear, the rest of his attention flicking through the week’s events, assembling his own summary. Household meetings took place in the upper kitchen, once a week. Led by Esaran, they were a chance to catch up on any changes, major or minor, to the household’s operations; to liaise about any problems; and to make sure everyone was coordinated for the coming week. These days, aside from the fast-approaching wedding, things were relatively quiet – and the meetings reflected that, as they had the urgency of multiple counts of treason and the visit of the Great Avar in the months before. Cala knew the others were glad that life seemed to be settling down again, though he and the other nohecharei remained a little concerned about Himself’s increasing anxiousness. It seemed to come and go, though there was hope that the wedding being done with would help by marking a new stage of his life. A fresh start in the spring, after the madness of the winter. Perhaps that was what they all needed.</p><p>Esaran closed the meeting, and everyone started about their business; but Avris caught Cala’s eye.</p><p>‘Can we talk to you two, for a minute?’ Avris asked. Cala nodded, and tugged Deret over. They ended up sat in the edocharei’s usual spot, the five of them bunched around one end of the table. The kitchen was shaped like the hilt of a sword – one long space running across where the main kitchen was, and another protruding out from the middle of it. The latter had a secondary kitchen table and was where the edocharei kept cleaning supplies and all manner of bits and pieces that they needed. With the cheerful conversation between the scullions and the noises of cleaning, they could talk relatively privately.</p><p>‘What is it?’ Deret asked. Avris hummed thoughtfully.</p><p>‘Well, it’s a little delicate,’ he said. ‘It’s just… occurred to the three of us that… well. Himself… well, he’s spent all the time since he was eight at Edonomee.’</p><p>There was a pause; Avris seemed to be weighing up different ways of expressing something; Esha cut in.</p><p>‘We were wondering just how much – or, more likely in our opinion, how little – His Serenity actually knows about what’s supposed to happen on his wedding night.’</p><p>Cala sat up, his eyebrows raised.</p><p>‘Damn,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s a good point. I can’t imagine Nelar was particularly informative.’</p><p>This got a snort from Deret.</p><p>‘I almost hope, for Himself’s sake, that he wasn’t,’ he said.</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>‘But what do we do?’ Esha persisted. ‘Someone should talk to him, but should it be us? We don’t mind at all; ‘tis a normal part of our purview, and we don’t mind discussing it with a nohecharis present…’</p><p>‘…but Himself probably will, whoever it is,’ Nemer finished. ‘I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to be approached at nineteen by people I’ve known less than six months to ask me how much I know about the facts of life, especially in front of someone else, and with respect, I am much less easily embarrassed than he is.’</p><p>That was an understatement, Cala knew – edocharei were famously shameless – but it was also a good point.</p><p>‘Might be worth asking Kiru,’ he said slowly.</p><p>Deret looked askance at him from across the table.</p><p>‘He’s nineteen years old and you think he’ll be less embarrassed to have <em>that</em> explained to him by a woman?’</p><p>‘What, sex?’ Cala said innocently, just to watch Beshelar’s ears redden. It worked, as it always did. Really, the man was too proper for his own good. ‘And that wasn’t my point. Kiru’s treated people for years, and doctors run into all sorts of things. I’d wonder if she had any suggestions about how to bring the topic up. I wasn’t suggesting she do the actual talking. Though she is pretty capable of making matters… practical, rather than personal.’</p><p>This met with a general agreement. No one in the close household got along badly, but Kiru was particularly well-liked among the staff for her no-nonsense approach to her work, as both nohecharo and cleric.</p><p>‘Well, we should have time on the next shift-change to speak to her,’ Deret said gruffly, and Cala resisted the urge to tease him further for his still-red ears. <em>Save that for later</em>.</p><p>‘The turn is around when His Serenity will be getting ready for bed,’ he said instead. ‘Though if you’d rather, one of you three can speak to her when she’s off shift.’</p><p>‘Why don’t you see how the shift change goes,’ Nemer said.</p><p>Cala, shifting position, noted that Csevet was sat at the other table, not quite concealing his attention. He looked away, and nodded at Nemer. ‘If we don’t have time, I’ll ask her to speak to you three when she comes down. Best to get this dealt with in plenty of time, the wedding isn’t far off.’</p><p>Csevet had a near-perfect mask, but it was quite late at night, and Cala thought he saw a subtle flinch pass over his face. He had a suspicion as to why the subject of Himself’s wedding night might be something of an uncomfortable one for Csevet, but he kept that to himself. He liked Csevet, and even if that hadn’t been the case, it was best to show your discretion around this sort of thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi folks, was delighted by all the lovely support on chapter one! Just a gentle reminder: I'm not seeking constructive criticism on this fic, so if there was something you disliked or felt needed improvement, please do not share that with me. Thank you &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Diplomatic Arts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrevechelar IV, the 176<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Edrevechelar IV is the quintessential example of an emperor who was much loved by his court, and detested by his government. He was known for his elaborate and near-constant parties and celebrations as prince, and many hoped his father would displace him from the line of inheritance in favour of his younger brother. He did not; Edrevechelar IV reigned for twenty years in a style of excess, extravagance and recklessness that has yet to be met in another Ethuverazheise emperor. His imperial policies changed on a whim, he was often facetious and contrary in correspondence with his Lord Chancellor, and he was eventually removed from his position by a formal and impressively unified motion of government.</p><p>He was succeeded by his younger brother, and is one of the few emperors to have outlived his own reign by any substantial amount of time.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>The afternoon of the next day, having been distracted by a scuffle between the Prince of Thu-Tetar and some Thu-Athamar lord the day before, Maia conveyed the nature of his conversation with Idra to Csevet between minor audiences. Csevet listened attentively.</p><p>‘Prince Idra has made an excellent suggestion,’ he said. ‘Would Your Serenity like for us to consider some possibilities and a suggested guest list?’</p><p>‘Please,’ Maia said, trying to hold back his discomfort at the entire idea. ‘If we may – we do not intend to push the event in any particular direction, save that it be as small as can be sensibly managed, but we assume that certain invitations will need to be issued in order to… ah, for the sake of tact?’</p><p>Csevet’s little twitch of an ear was as good as a smile, and Maia ignored the small pleased feeling at being responsible for it.</p><p>‘There will need to be some tactical inclusions,’ Csevet conceded, ‘especially as we presume Your Serenity will not be likely to host such occasions with particular frequency, and therefore any initial omissions will not be able to be made up for at a later date. But by keeping the guest list small, we think such inclusions will be minimal.’</p><p>‘We thank you.’</p><p>‘Was there anyone particularly Your Serenity was hoping to invite?’</p><p>Csevet’s voice was carefully neutral, and Maia knew that he could, if he wished, leave the entire matter to his secretary. But also that he should not. <em>Thou canst not push away any court skill for long, and ‘tis past time thou knew of these things.</em> He bit back a sigh, and tried to think.</p><p>‘Dach’osmin Ceredin, of course,’ he said slowly, starting with the easy answers. ‘Arbelan Zhasanai; our sister Vedero; and we suppose Csoru Zhasanai will expect an invitation, as it is a family event.’</p><p>Csevet nodded, making a note. Maia tried to think. His sister Nemriän and her husband were home in Thu-Athamar, and therefore too far away; that was the limit on immediate family.</p><p>‘We know who we enjoy the <em>company</em> of more,’ Maia said carefully. ‘That would be Lord Berenar and his wife, perhaps Lord Deshehar. And perhaps,’ he added, thinking back to the dinner with the Lanthevada that had caused him so much apprehension, ‘the Marquess Lantheval, his niece, and Captain Orthema.’ He paused. ‘But that seems altogether too political a gathering, and we would be concerned that inviting the marquess and the captain and <em>not </em>the Pashavada so soon after our dinner there would be considered… pointed.’</p><p>Csevet gave a small, approving smile at this logic and Maia felt unreasonably pleased with himself. Then, abruptly, felt absurd for such a reaction. It was a perfectly simple logical leap, hardly meriting comment. And Csevet was merely being polite.</p><p>‘The Berenada are a relatively neutral choice, for an emperor is expected to be on good terms with his Lord Chancellor,’ Csevet said. ‘And Lord Deshehar might be a good addition, bringing in both the Corazhas and the Parliament – but only the House of Commons –’</p><p>‘And so the marquess might be a reasonable addition?’</p><p>‘Quite so, Serenity. He will likely come alone; and Captain Orthema will not be offended by a lack of invitation, and in that case neither will the Pashavada.’</p><p>Maia nodded, pleased.</p><p>‘It might also be appropriate to invite one or two courtiers whose children are of age with Prince Idra, and perhaps his sisters. They will be peers, and it does well to encourage a connection and allow them to see that the prince and his sisters have imperial approval. An it please you, Serenity, we shall prepare a short list of suggestions for you.’</p><p>‘Thank you, Csevet. We shall leave the matter in your capable hands for the moment.’</p><p>‘Serenity.’</p><p><em>Your capable, ringless hands</em>, Maia thought as Csevet leafed through the paperwork. He fought the urge not to twist his own heavily adorned fingers together. The weight on them had been merely emotional to begin with, but in the last few weeks they had begun to ache intermittently. Maia had been putting off asking the edocharei if they thought the rings could be altered to fit better - he strongly suspected the answer was no, that they already fit him as well as they ever had, and he knew it would be harder to bear once he knew for certain it was forever. Instead he continued to allow the possibility of ease dangle in his mind, knowing it was childish but considering it a relatively harmless way in which to vent his wilfulness.</p><p>His thoughts had wandered, and he had the beginnings of a headache in his temples. It took a considerable amount of willpower to drag his attention back to the various matters at hand, but as usual this was made easier by Csevet's bright-eyed efficiency.</p><p>‘Serenity, we have here a missive from Merrem Esaran.’</p><p>‘Oh?’</p><p>‘She wishes to enquire if you have decided whether or not Dach’osmin Ceredin will be residing in the Alcethmeret after the wedding, and if not, where she should be placed. Merrem Esaran will be responsible for making such arrangements.’</p><p>Maia went briefly blank but took a steadying breath. Csevet’s tone was very precisely formal and a little cautious; clearly he was concerned that the emperor might fall back into childish resistance, as he had to discussions of any marriage at all some months ago.</p><p>Fortunately, as the immediate panic cleared, Maia already had an answer to this one.</p><p>‘Csethiro will not be living in the Alcethmeret,’ he said quietly. ‘We have been discussing the matter with her, and both of us feel it is the best decision. We believe that the apartments formerly belonging to one of our brothers might be… appropriate?’</p><p>It had been a difficult conversation, and a somewhat uncomfortable one, and Maia was painfully aware of the risks of the decision – that the court would read a lack of affection into it, a lack of interest, and that it might even go so far as to undermine their belief in any child’s legitimacy, especially if that child appeared very Elvish. <em>As well they might, with only a quarter Goblin in their parentage</em>. Despite all of this, however, he felt that living separately was the right decision in the longer term.</p><p><em>We barely know each other, and we must be the perfect imperial couple before a hundred eyes</em>, he reiterated to himself. <em>Having our own privacies to retreat to will allow us both appropriate respite.</em></p><p>The reasoning was good, and Csethiro had firmly agreed, looking – if Maia had not been mistaken – a little relieved.</p><p>
  <em>Though of course such respite will of necessity be limited, and we will have to be seen to be affectionate in public so as to convince…</em>
</p><p>He jumped slightly as he realised he had drifted into thought again and entirely missed Csevet’s words.</p><p>‘We apologise, Csevet, what were you saying?’</p><p>Something like sympathy might have flashed across Csevet’s face, but it vanished too swiftly for Maia to be sure. Instead Csevet merely inclined his head politely.</p><p>‘The apartments formerly belonging to Prince Nemolis are the most well-appointed, Serenity,’ he said carefully. ‘But those of the Archdukes Nazhra and Ciris would also be appropriate, if your Serenity prefers.’</p><p>‘We wish… we wish her to have every luxury she may, and for the court to understand that we… hold her in esteem,’ Maia said, very glad that the greyness of his skin prevented too much in the way of a visible blush. ‘But we wonder if it would be considered inappropriate or disrespectful for us to…’</p><p>As always, Csevet understood immediately what his emperor was too awkward to express.</p><p>‘We do not believe it would be taken badly,’ he said. ‘The apartments of the Drazhada, particularly those close to the emperor, are frequently subject to changes in occupants based on changes in rank. It might in fact be an improvement on the apartments remaining empty.’</p><p>Maia nodded.</p><p>‘Prince Idra will also be moving into his own apartments in a year and a half,’ he ventured, mostly to hear Csevet’s thoughts.</p><p>‘That is, of course, the case, and it would perhaps be courteous to speak to His Highness about the soon-to-be-Zhasan’s apartments before the knowledge becomes public,’ Csevet said, nodding. ‘But that is not yet to come, and it is possible that before then his rank will have changed. If there is a… new family composition.’</p><p>Maia appreciated how delicately Csevet had phrased it, but the thought was still enough to increase the weight of dread in the pit of his stomach. If he and Csethiro had a son, that child would become Prince of the Untheileneise Court, reducing Idra back down to Archduke.</p><p>Forcing himself once more to focus, he nodded.</p><p>‘Then we will speak to Idra, and as soon as we have done so, Merrem Esaran may make arrangements.’</p><p>‘Yes, Serenity.’</p><p>‘What do we attend to next?’</p><p>Csevet handed him another sheet of paper. The work dragged on, inexorable.</p><p>~</p><p>The suggested guest list for the party was handed to Maia a day later, and Maia was pleased to see that it contained a reassuringly small number of people, and even fewer that he was not familiar with. There were about twenty names; a small number of heads of noble families made up those he was not familiar with, and they were well balanced by those that he was. Maia was particularly pleased to see his aunt’s name appear there, also.</p><p>The date was set for two weeks’ time, a courteous gap which allowed for the fact that invitations from the emperor were not to be turned down without excellent reason and thus any other engagements would need to be rearranged. When Maia visited Idra, Mireän and Ino to tell them the news and give them their own invitations (technically unnecessary, as they were considered part of the host family, but they were lovely little documents and Maia had guessed that the two young girls would be particularly delighted by them), he was gratified by how pleased they were. He also spoke to Idra about the arrangements for the zhasan-to-be’s apartments, and was gratified when Idra was unhesitatingly in support of the idea. Finally, he took the opportunity to invite Idra to his weekly dinner with Arbelan Zhasanai a few days before the party, knowing how much easier it was to manage any social occasion when one was more familiar with those present – and also wary that he himself would not be able to shepherd Idra if he felt he needed the support.</p><p>In the meantime, Maia seemed to ricochet between endless specifications for the Wisdom Bridge and equally endless wedding preparations. He was trying to view the latter in the abstract as much as possible, as though Edrehasivar and Dach’osmin Ceredin could marry without involving Maia or Csethiro, who were not at all ready. <em>Csethiro is ready, fool, ‘tis only </em>thee <em>who hesitates</em>.</p><p>The wedding talk seemed to infiltrate every possible aspect of court, taking over conversation every night after dinner. Maia tried to seem only reserved and private, but worried that instead he came across as reluctant and fearful. One evening, however, after he had retired, the subject was raised in a more personal manner.</p><p>Once the edocharei had left for the night, Maia expected Kiru to turn the lamps down as always – and she did, but only a little. He turned onto his side to look at her in the half-light.</p><p>‘Kiru?’ he asked. ‘What is’t?’</p><p>She had settled herself in her usual position and was gazing out from it in a contemplative way without looking at him directly.</p><p>‘We wish to raise a matter with you, Serenity,’ she said quietly. ‘It is not a concerning one, merely a… delicate subject.’</p><p>Maia frowned, and pulled himself more upright in bed, keeping the sheets over him as much as possible to hold onto the warmth. An odd moment to choose, so late at night. What would it be that she could not have raised it in the normal hours?</p><p>‘Of course, Kiru. What can we help you with?’ He knew he was not supposed to phrase it like that, but he trusted the nohecharei, and Csevet was not here to look pained. To his surprise, Kiru smiled a little, her gaze still wandering the rest of the room.</p><p>‘On the contrary, we seek to help you, Serenity.’ She paused, and he sensed that she was choosing her words carefully. ‘Your wedding approaches soon, and we are aware you may have some… logistical questions. About our requirements.’</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Maia took his cue from Kiru and shifted position, letting his eyes wander away from her, determined not to sound embarrassed. He opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to summon up a proper response – but Kiru went on without it, gently.</p><p>‘It is, regretfully, a requirement that a nohecharis be present in the room when the emperor has a guest. However, you will be glad to know there are some considerable mitigations.’</p><p>Maia was staring fixedly at one of the bedposts. He tried for a neutral tone.</p><p>‘Ah – mitigations?’ he managed, throat dry. He had known something like this was coming, had he not? He had simply refused to think about it.</p><p>‘Yes, Serenity. Firstly, when the emperor has a guest, the nohecharis in the room will always be the maza.’</p><p><em>No need to fear Beshelar’s judging eyes on thee then – that’s something</em>, he thought, semi-hysterically. He swallowed. Kiru spoke again.</p><p>‘The bed curtains are, of course, drawn closed,’ she said. ‘And the maza-nohecharis uses a particular maz – it is called a theiliamaz.’</p><p>The curtains being closed had helped some of the fear ease. Maia licked dry lips and asked the natural next question.</p><p>‘What is a – a theiliamaz, what does it do?’</p><p>‘It was developed to – well, certain types of incantations can be very delicate. The way one says something, the movements one makes, they can be very particular. The theiliamaz is a way of maintaining focus and preventing unnecessary distractions, while still allowing some communication. The caster – for example Cala, or ourself – is rendered unable to hear anything but a few chosen words or phrases, or another signal.’</p><p>With tentative relief, Maia thought he understood.</p><p>‘So you – or Cala,’ he managed, ‘would use this spell so that… well…’</p><p>‘To grant you some privacy, yes Serenity,’ Kiru finished for him. ‘The spell lasts about an hour, but it can be renewed if necessary. Typically a maza-nohecharis would be required to include the names of all four nohecharei and the word help in the spell-break terms. Your serenity can of course suggest other words, should you wish to.’</p><p>Maia thought this through for a minute or so. The relief had blossomed fully now. There would be a nohecharis, but they would not be able to see or hear anything – well – private. It was a clever compromise, if a little complex. But he would have privacy. For once. Well, in a way – it wasn’t as if he would be alone, after all…</p><p>Kiru cleared her throat slightly, indicating she was not quite finished.</p><p>‘If it is acceptable to your serenity, Cala and ourself would like the opportunity to practice the theiliamaz before the wedding,’ she said. ‘So some evenings, when it is ourself or Cala in here with you, we may ask to use the maz for an hour or so. It would help us adjust to monitoring the room under those limitations – the curtains drawn and the maz in progress.’</p><p>Maia was not quite so naïve that he could not work out what was being implied, and he fought hard against the rising heat in his cheeks.</p><p>‘That would be acceptable, Kiru,’ he said, with a carefully level voice.</p><p>‘Serenity.’</p><p>A pause, and then Kiru’s voice came again.</p><p>‘Serenity, there is one more matter, and we are afraid it is the most delicate.’</p><p>Maia braced himself. It helped, at least, that there was no hint of embarrassment in Kiru’s voice.</p><p>‘…go on, Kiru.’</p><p>‘It is very common, in noble families – particularly in the upper nobility – for a person to have a very limited amount of knowledge about the details of the wedding night.’</p><p>Maia’s gaze returned to the bedpost. <em>Mayhap if thou art lucky, the blankets will come to life and swallow thee whole?</em></p><p>‘Oh?’ he managed.</p><p>‘On that subject, you will find a very informative book, bookmarked at the correct chapter, in the drawer to the right of the bed,’ Kiru continued, calm and matter of fact. ‘If you do have any questions, please feel free to speak to either ourself or to any of the edocharei, who typically are responsible for amending this gap in their master’s education if need be. But we think the book will likely cover everything.’</p><p> Pushing the suffocation of his embarrassment just far away enough to enable him to speak, Maia thanked Kiru and wished her goodnight; upon his request, she turned the lamps all the way down, covering him in the relief of darkness. Time enough to read the book another night, when he might actually be able to concentrate.</p><p>He lay there a while, torn between relief, embarrassment, and dread, before he managed to sleep.</p><p>~</p><p>‘Is Kiru speaking to him tonight?’</p><p>‘Mm. She knew about this book – it’s a physician’s guide, really. <em>Common Aspects of the Physician’s Care.</em> I had a look while we were tidying – it’s got chapters on most common things, and chapter eight is on marital relations. It seemed like a good solution – he doesn’t have to endure being spoken to, at least, and it covers everything.’</p><p>‘Mm, good.’</p><p>Csevet kept his eyes on his paperwork, staring holes into the treasury’s winter overview report. He preferred working in the kitchen to in his room (much smaller desk) or in the secretarial spaces in the Lower Alcethmeret (which made him feel as though he was somehow imposing). Usually, the constant trickle of talk and gossip was comforting, and easier to work in than silence. But sometimes…</p><p>Fortunately, the conversation shifted quickly; when Csevet glanced up, he thought Cala had been watching him, but then the maza was often lost in thought. It was probably nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Winternight, folks! I'm taking a little holiday from the fic (and also I need to get a bit more written to stay on top of it), so I will be back posting on either 5th or 12th January, depending on how well it goes. Have a good winter season, whatever you're celebrating - and this fic will get going again in the new year! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Warmth of Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edresomivar II, 197<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>While the imperial family has always had the highest standards of education, Edresomivar II is known for being one of the few Ethuverazheise emperors to have become a notable scholar in his own right. He was permitted by his father to attend university, where he studied the natural sciences for a time before broadening his field. By the time of his death he had written fourteen books on a variety of subjects including natural science, philology, architecture, and history. He was reputed to host lectures at court, where attendance often impacted a courtier’s political standing.</p>
<p>While apparently a doting husband with a devoted wife, he produced no heirs. He was succeeded by his nephew, and this shift marks the beginning of a series of extreme swings in imperial politics (see following entry).</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>For the kitchen and serving staff, a dinner party in the Alcethmeret was a busy affair. Upper and Lower Alcethmeret alike buzzed with activity as they wove back and forth with task after task. For the edocharei, however, once they had dressed the emperor, it was an occasion to sit at their worktable at the far end of the kitchen and enjoy the chaos. Officially they were polishing Michen Mura, but all three of them could do that with their eyes closed by now, and so the talk was considerably more casual.</p>
<p>Additionally, the nohecharei shift change was due after the party ended – and Cala had turned up in the kitchen to enjoy the company and the excitable atmosphere, Deret pulled along in his wake. Downstairs, the guests were just arriving; and in the kitchen, Nemer and Cala had drawn Esha, Avris, and Deret into an animated discussion about the places that various staff members hailed from. Central to this, and provoking the greatest disagreement, was Csevet, currently somewhere in the Lower Alcethmeret ears-deep in paperwork, and more importantly of unknown origin.</p>
<p>‘He’s from the south, I could have sworn he was from the south,’ Esha said.</p>
<p>‘And I’m not saying he isn’t, but thou hast no proof either way,’ Avris returned.</p>
<p>‘I can’t imagine him being from the north, that’s all.’ Esha shrugged.</p>
<p>‘Why not?’</p>
<p>‘Because thou art too fond of him and thou detestest northerners,’ Nemer cut in, pointing at Avris, who looked offended. Cala chuckled into his tea.</p>
<p>‘That is a <em>vile slander</em>.’</p>
<p>‘Didst thou not say to me just the other day that the north-west in particular breeds only malcontents and –’</p>
<p>‘Only because Petzha took the last fruit bun before I had a chance! It was a very <em>specific </em>generalisation, and besides, <em>he</em> thought it funny!’ Avris flicked a few drops of clean water at Nemer, who was laughing and did not both to dodge.</p>
<p>‘It has occurred to you all that you could just <em>ask Csevet</em>?’ Deret said.</p>
<p>Nemer waved a cleaning cloth at him.</p>
<p>‘No fun. And besides, we’ve tried that, he gives a different answer every time someone asks him.’</p>
<p>‘He told Nemer he was Cetho born and bred, and then he told Ebremis he was from out in the eastern countryside,’ Esha said, raising a finger for each point of his list, ‘and Isheian says he told <em>her </em>he’s familiar with the colder winters up north from growing up there.’</p>
<p>‘Ha.’</p>
<p>Nemer leant in conspiratorially.</p>
<p>‘Alright, see, what we do is wait for his day off, take him to the inn, have a few drinks with him, and see what accent comes out.’ He sat back and spread his hands. ‘Simple.’</p>
<p>‘Truly?’ Avris said. ‘Believest a former courier is going to slip out of his court accent after <em>a few drinks</em>? Hast thou ever <em>met</em> a courier? Thou couldst drain the inn and it still wouldn’t be enough.’</p>
<p>‘Besides, it’s always hard to tell with couriers, they’ve been so many places they can sound however they like,’ Cala pointed out, and Nemer shrugged.</p>
<p>‘Csevet doesn’t really drink, though.’ Esha’s tone was vague; he was preoccupied measuring out the components for more cleaning fluid. Avris responded regardless.</p>
<p>‘Well no, not now he’s imperial secretary, he’s not got the time. But I’d put money on him being able to drink anyone here under the table.’</p>
<p>‘I don’t doubt that –’</p>
<p>They were interrupted by a sudden bang from the other end of the kitchen – one of the scullions had mishandled a pot and it had hit the floor loud enough to stop conversation, sending soapy water skidding across the tiles. Ashu raced for a mop, and the others turned back to what they were doing.</p>
<p>‘What inn would you pick?’ Avris said suddenly.</p>
<p>‘I thought thou said –’</p>
<p>‘Oh, no, not for Csevet, just I’ve a friend coming through Cetho next month and I’m trying to decide what to suggest as a meeting place.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, for that thou wantest the Cloth and Key,’ Esha said.</p>
<p>‘Really? It’ll be filled with, well –’</p>
<p>‘Edocharei?’</p>
<p>‘Exactly.’</p>
<p>‘Well, thy friend is friends with <em>thee</em>, isn’t he? And besides, the food is good.’</p>
<p>‘Is that an edocharei spot, then?’ Cala asked, sounding curious. ‘I always thought the inns in Cetho were largely the same as one another.’</p>
<p>Deret let out a snort.</p>
<p>‘Why, Cala, it’s almost as if thou hast barely left the Mazan’theileian,’ Nemer teased.</p>
<p>Cala laughed.</p>
<p>‘True enough. Mazei aren’t encouraged to drink to begin with, and dachenmazei are actively discouraged. And everything one would need is in the Mazan’theileian. Once there, why leave?’</p>
<p>‘To see a fraction of the world around thee?’ Deret suggested. ‘Even, perhaps, the part of it on thy front doorstep?’</p>
<p>‘Ah, but our Cala has been ensconced there since he was a little pupil of maz, and would suffer terrible conniptions upon leaving,’ Nemer said solemnly.</p>
<p>‘The proper term is <em>novice of the Athmaz’are</em>,’ Avris said loftily, wagging a teasing finger at Nemer.</p>
<p>Cala shook his head and waved a hand.</p>
<p>‘No no no no,’ he said. ‘The <em>official</em> term is <em>novice of the Athmaz’are</em>. The <em>proper</em> term is<em> michenmaza</em>. Because they’re the youngest! Like how Deret is the youngest of the four of us, so he’s a michen-nohecharei.’</p>
<p>Esha nearly spat his drink, and Nemer all but collapsed in laughter. Deret turned a rather impressive scowl on Cala; Cala affected an innocent expression which was, admittedly, somewhat spoiled by the fact that he was struggling not to laugh. Deret shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning back to his tea.</p>
<p>‘Thou dost not have one singular respectful bone in thy unnaturally lanky body,’ he said grumpily, but Cala thought he could see amusement in his expression.</p>
<p>‘I can’t have any, they get in the way of maz-work,’ he said haughtily, and at this Deret really did laugh a little.</p>
<p>‘Incorrigible.’</p>
<p>Nemer, recovered from laughter, changed the subject back again.</p>
<p>‘Cala! Thou must learn of the world,’ he said mock-sternly, and Cala turned to him obligingly.</p>
<p>‘Teach me, oh wise scholar.’</p>
<p>More laughter at that, but Nemer pushed through.</p>
<p>‘Cloth and Key is where the edocharei go, largely – the soldiers and the brotherhood go to the –’</p>
<p>‘Here, thou canst not lump all of us together –’ Deret interrupted, but Nemer cut straight over him in response.</p>
<p>‘I can if all of you end up at the same inn, and if thou dost not like it, take it up with thy fellows.’</p>
<p>‘…point taken,’ Deret conceded, ‘though I will have it said that the Vigilant Brotherhood drink at the Cetho Arms.’</p>
<p>‘Because they have no taste.’</p>
<p>‘Because they have <em>no</em> taste.’</p>
<p>‘Well said. But as I was saying, the soldiers go to the Sword and Mail, the servants generally drink in the Five Candles, new people with money who don’t know where they’re going end up in the Crown, and the regular Cetho folk have their own preferences according to their trade or family business – the Three Hammers, the Farrier’s Arms, so on.’</p>
<p>‘Hold up, hold up, how is it that all the inn names match their clientele?’ Cala asked, frowning.</p>
<p>‘Because Cetho, while appearing to the outside as the font of all things new and exciting in the Ethuveraz, is at its heart both stubborn and predictable,’ Nemer pronounced with the air of a historian, and then laughed at Cala’s raised eyebrow. ‘Usually the innkeep will change the name if it’s got a very specific type of customer, they get proud of it,’ he explained. ‘And then most folk go to the places they match, because they feel catered too.’</p>
<p>‘Ah, understood.’</p>
<p>The arrival of Csevet, over-burdened with paperwork, interrupted the flow of conversation again for a few minutes. When he finally had the piles arranged in some kind of order and Esha had saved some of them from a near miss with Cala’s tea, he sat down with a sigh.</p>
<p>‘Weighed down as usual, Csevet?’</p>
<p>Csevet made a noise of faint distress.</p>
<p>‘The Ceredada are still returning adjustments for the wedding – the rehearsal is next week, it’s supposed to be finalised by now.’</p>
<p>‘I thought the Marquess wanted this done with,’ Esha said with a frown. ‘Rumour has it that he’s worried about holding the emperor’s approval, he wants everything completed as quickly as possible.’</p>
<p>‘I think he’s torn between wanting it all over and trying to make the perfect impression,’ Csevet said, hunting through the papers for something particular. ‘His Serenity is not the most public of personalities, so he’s having to guess at what might please him. I’ve half a mind to let the Ceredada secretary find out that the emperor has no idea what all these little arrangements are, so there’s no chance of his being either appeased <em>or </em>offended.’</p>
<p>Deret gave a snort of laughter.</p>
<p>‘Mm, I’m sure that would reassure him.’</p>
<p>‘Himself still hasn’t shown any interest in the wedding arrangements, then?’ Esha asked.</p>
<p>‘Be fair, he’s snowed under by about a thousand other things,’ Avris said with a yawn.</p>
<p>‘Mm.’</p>
<p>‘Pashavar seems determined to drown him in bridge administration, and that would almost be enough on its own,’ Cala volunteered. ‘Though at least there’s a lot of excitement about it – I hear they’re already planning the completion ceremony, even though it’ll be years away yet.’</p>
<p>This launched them all into a lengthy discussion of the Wisdom Bridge and the myriad components and people that had to be brought into coordination in order to achieve it. That conversation then spiralled off in all sorts of directions, and the time passed quickly. The activity in the kitchen kicked up a notch as the party ended, with what seemed like an endless amount of cutlery and crockery to retrieve, wash, dry, and store; not to mention a dozen other tasks. The edocharei were called up to attend the emperor, but Cala barely noticed; he was so caught up in an exchange with Csevet about the clockmaker’s guild that had it not been for the bell on the kitchen clock he might have been late for the shift change.</p>
<p>‘Come on, he’ll be almost abed, we need to relieve the Seconds,’ he said when it the hour struck, only to realise that Deret was already on his feet and waiting for him.</p>
<p>‘Possibly,’ Deret agreed with a hint of smugness, and Cala made a face at him.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>As they reached the top turn of the stairwell, the edocharei were just departing.</p>
<p>‘You were swift,’ Deret said curiously.</p>
<p>‘He was tired,’ Esha said. ‘Keen to get to bed. And perhaps to be left alone, after all the fuss.’</p>
<p>‘Sounds like him.’</p>
<p>‘He was well otherwise?’ Cala asked.</p>
<p>Avris tipped his hand one way and then the other.</p>
<p>‘So-so,’ he said. ‘Quiet, mostly. Hard to read tonight. Coris said he wanted to talk to you about something, though.’</p>
<p>Cala nodded, and they parted ways as the nohecharei made their way up to the final landing, where Coris was waiting. Handovers were easier to do at night, when they could talk more privately in the corridor. Cala reached out and put a hand on the wall, tuning into the wards to make sure there was no one in earshot, and then nodded at the two soldiers.</p>
<p>‘How was the party?’</p>
<p>Coris shrugged.</p>
<p>‘It went very well,’ he said. ‘Prince Idra did well, the archduchesses got to greet everyone, it wasn’t too chaotic. Not bad for Himself’s first hosting.’</p>
<p>‘Good. He’s well?’</p>
<p>Coris made a face.</p>
<p>‘He’s… well. You know he’s been quiet lately. He did well through the party, but when he came out it was like he… folded in on himself, in a way.’</p>
<p>‘He always has a hard time with social events.’</p>
<p>‘True enough, but it’s part of a pattern – his mood seems to get lower the closer we get…’</p>
<p>‘To the wedding.’</p>
<p>The three of them were quiet a moment.</p>
<p>‘Mayhap he’s only anxious that it go well,’ Cala offered, trying for optimism. ‘He and the zhasan seem to be getting along well enough, but he does tend towards worry.’</p>
<p>The other two nodded. And then, after a moment, his expression uneasy, Coris spoke.</p>
<p>‘Do you think it’s… about Csevet?’</p>
<p>Cala raised his eyebrows, and Coris shrugged uncertainly.</p>
<p>‘I can’t have been the only one of us who’s noticed,’ he said quietly. ‘Csevet… Csevet clearly has feelings for him, but I can’t tell if it’s mutual. Mostly Himself is far too proper for anything to show, but sometimes there are moments…’</p>
<p>‘When one of them glances at the other unobserved,’ Deret said gruffly, nodding. ‘Well, unobserved by anyone but us.’ He looked at Cala. ‘Well, there’s no need to look like that, maza, it’s natural enough.’</p>
<p>‘No, no, I was just –’ <em>shocked that </em>you’d <em>noticed, because I thought soldiers would be insensitive to that sort of thing? </em>Cala kept the rest of that sentence behind his teeth. It said more about his own biases than it did about Coris or Deret, evidently. He tried again. ‘I was just – I’d noticed the way they are with each other, but not thought about it being related to Himself’s low mood.’ <em>True enough.</em></p>
<p>Coris seemed to accept this, but Deret gave Cala another frown before he continued, and Cala knew he’d be hearing about this later.</p>
<p>‘I agree, Himself’s feelings are an unknown quantity,’ Deret said. ‘But it’s not impossible.’</p>
<p>‘He clearly holds Csevet in regard,’ Cala put in. ‘More so than he does anyone else on the staff. But what nature that regard is, I don’t know.’</p>
<p>Coris nodded.</p>
<p>‘Csevet, on the other hand…’ he said softly.</p>
<p>‘Do you think we should speak to him about it?’ Deret asked. ‘I don’t like to make him uncomfortable, and it isn’t as though he’s been unprofessional. But I worry about him dealing with it alone.’</p>
<p><em>Hitherto unforeseen depths, Deret</em>. But Cala knew he was being unfair. He just felt foolish, to have assumed Deret’s opinion with no evidence.</p>
<p>‘Perhaps I should,’ Cala said, and then persisted in face of Deret’s raised eyebrow. ‘Look, I already spoke with him about… I spoke to him alone, early on, to make sure that he knew if anyone tried to use the reputation of the courier fleet against him he could come to me. Tis a lever some would try to pull, and I know reactions to marnei are not always positive.’</p>
<p>Deret was still looking at him as though he was trying to work something out, and Cala rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>‘Merciful goddesses,’ he muttered, heat rising in his cheeks. ‘I’m marnis, Deret, yes. The Mazan’theileian is a good place to be for that, and people don’t like to upset a dachenmaza, so I’ve never truly had any trouble, but I know enough of what it’s like for others. So I spoke to him.’</p>
<p>‘Why didst thou keep it from me?’ Deret asked, his voice carefully neutral.</p>
<p>Extremely aware of how visible his blush was, Cala sighed and tried to phrase it as delicately as possible.</p>
<p>‘I did not know – what thou might have thought,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘I did not know thee well, that early. I thought to raise it with thee at a later point, and I suppose this is it.’</p>
<p>Deret looked at him a moment longer, and Cala could not read his expression. Then he turned back to Coris, who had been watching them both with wide eyes.</p>
<p>‘Coris, we should let Kiru know we’re ready to change over,’ he said.</p>
<p>‘Of course.’</p>
<p>Coris slipped into the bedchamber, and when the door shut behind him Deret looked back at Cala.</p>
<p>‘I am sorry thou didst not feel thou couldst trust me with this,’ he said. ‘But for what it’s worth, thou art not the odd one out of the four of us. I think that’s Coris.’</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait, I knew about Kiru, but does he mean that he…</em>
</p>
<p>Without another word or giving Cala a chance to reply, Deret followed Coris into the bedchamber. Cala was left to stand there, blinking in shock, and nod a mute goodnight at Kiru and Coris as they exited and made their way down the stairwell. He had a great deal to think about.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy New Year, folks! And Happy Birthday S, to whom this chapter is dedicated and who is responsible for at least 45% of my motivation for writing this :D Remember: it's Her Fault.</p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Oaths by Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrevenitar I, the 161<sup>st</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>By all accounts a mild and well-mannered child, Edrevenitar I shocked both the Drazhada and the court as a whole by refusing marriage entirely and declining to give a reason. When he eventually ascended to the throne, he formally adopted the child of a distant cousin as his heir, with a mixed response from the Ethuveraz. This singular eccentricity aside, Edrevenitar I was an otherwise unremarkable emperor whose reign did not contain any particularly dramatic achievements or failures.</p>
<p>He was succeeded successfully by his adopted heir. However, this success was temporary; see entry for <em>Edrevenitar II</em>.</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The morning of the wedding came early for the edocharei, who were up at five o’clock to check everything was in place. The ceremony itself would take place at ten, with a court luncheon to follow, and then celebrations that lasted through the afternoon, dinner, and dancing. The three of them took an early breakfast with the rest of the staff, and then walked to the Untheileian with Csevet and the First Nohecharei to confirm every detail for the final time.</p>
<p>The Untheileian looked beautiful, draped with so much deep Drazhada blue that it almost felt as though you were surrounded by night sky, the little details in white picked out like stars. Avris watched Cala and Deret walk through their positions – a step behind the emperor on arrival, then stepping back to flank the throne as the vows took place before it. Deret was clearly checking lines of sight, occasionally confirming the position of various courtiers with Csevet; Cala was staring up at the ceiling, twisting the fingers of one hand the way he did when he was concentrating on something.</p>
<p>‘Sometimes I wonder if he’s doing some kind of spell when he does that,’ Nemer murmured from next to Avris. ‘Or if he just gets a cramp in his hands.’</p>
<p>Avris held back a laugh.</p>
<p>‘Perhaps thou shouldst offer him a hand massage for the pain and see what he says?’ he suggested innocently. Edocharei were taught such skills at the school for the express purpose of easing discomfort and pain, but many people made less salubrious assumptions about their intentions. From the small snort next to him, Nemer had conjured the same image of Cala’s slightly alarmed expression as Avris had.</p>
<p>‘Everything is paced out and ready, as it should be,’ Esha said, joining them. ‘We’re just waiting on Cala and Deret, and then we’re back up to the tower.’</p>
<p>The nohecharei were only a few more minutes, and the walk back to the Alcethmeret was a fairly cheerful one to the casual onlooker. Underneath it all, however, was a current of tension.</p>
<p>It had been impossible not to notice Edrehasivar’s mood. It grew lower and lower as the wedding approached; he was withdrawn and listless when readying for the day or for bed, and Csevet had noted that he had bursts of checking and rechecking his work and asking for Csevet to check again. Some anxiousness in a bridegroom was understandable, of course – any marriage was a significant venture, and the politically-charged nature of a court marriage multiplied that by ten. But this was more than nervous fretting, and nothing seemed to ease it.</p>
<p>No one spoke of it, however, not even as they passed into the Alcethmeret and made their way up through the nest.</p>
<p>‘Well, I will see you later,’ Csevet said, nodding to the others.</p>
<p>‘What art thou <em>doing</em> today, when they’re all dancing the day and night away?’ Nemer asked curiously. Avris saw Cala wince and shot him a querying glance; in answer Cala shook out his hand as though he had pulled something. <em>Maybe it </em>was<em> a cramp.</em></p>
<p>‘Keeping abreast of the correspondence, mostly,’ Csevet said. ‘I’ll come with the others to see the imperial couple greet the crowd, of course, but other than that it’ll be a quiet day. Hopefully I can make it so he doesn’t have too much to do tomorrow.’</p>
<p>‘Enjoy.’</p>
<p>‘I’ll do my best.’</p>
<p>Csevet turned a different way to the other five, presumably to his quarters to pick up paperwork. Avris frowned after him.</p>
<p>‘Someone should really tell that man to work less,’ he muttered. Csevet’s work ethic was, frankly, frightening. He hardly seemed to sleep. It was working for him so far, but Avris was sceptical that it could last.</p>
<p>Ahead of him, Deret gave a snort of amusement.</p>
<p>‘Kiru tried,’ he said dryly. ‘Lasted all of two weeks.’</p>
<p>‘He’ll learn,’ Cala said. ‘Everyone’s still catching up from the winter. It’ll pass.’</p>
<p>‘Hm.’</p>
<p>After quickly refreshing themselves, the three edocharei waited impatiently in their quarters while the nohecharei changed shifts; then the bell came, and it was time to go.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Deret always worked hard to be unnoticed, but it was easiest when His Serenity was being attended by the edocharei. He knew that Edrehasivar struggled with the lack of privacy an emperor had, and had yet to learn how to fully ignore the presence of the nohecharei. During his preparations, the carefully placed frosted-glass screens allowed him to keep some privacy while still allowing the nohecharis in the room to be alert to a stumble or fall.</p>
<p>This morning was slower than most. His Serenity had risen at eight, looking so fragile that Deret had had to hold back the urge to keep even the edocharei away from him. He had been encouraged to breakfast before dressing, an unusual occurrence, but a traditional wedding day indulgence. He had picked at the food, taking little. Then he had bathed, the smell of roses drifting through the tower room; and now he was in the final stages of dressing.</p>
<p>The wedding clothes were, as Deret understood from the chattering of the edocharei, only marginally less complex and beautiful than His Serenity’s coronation robes. They were donned slowly, the edocharei talking happy nothings as they worked.</p>
<p>There was, suddenly, a pause in their speech. Then Esha.</p>
<p>‘Serenity?’</p>
<p>He sounded concerned, and Deret fought with himself for a moment before taking several quiet steps to the left. He still could not quite see His Serenity, but he could change that if he needed to by taking a single step further. In the meantime, he could see Esha and Nemer.</p>
<p>There was the soft noise of someone trying to steady their breathing, and then a cleared throat.</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s crying.</em>
</p>
<p>‘’Tis nothing. A little sleeplessness, a mild headache. Please, continue.’</p>
<p>Edrehasivar’s voice was not quite steady enough to convince, but the edocharei obeyed nonetheless, returning to motion.</p>
<p>‘Is there anything that would help, Serenity?’ Avris asked gently. ‘Heat or cold, or fresh air? Perhaps some tea? There is a little time.’</p>
<p>Another shaky breath.</p>
<p>‘Could we have the window open a little?’</p>
<p>‘Of course, Serenity.’</p>
<p>Deret watched Nemer cross the room and open the window a few inches, choosing the one that would cause the air to be felt where His Serenity sat. He exchanged a brief, worried look with Deret, and Deret nodded back.</p>
<p>‘Thank you, Nemer.’</p>
<p>‘Serenity.’</p>
<p>The preparations continued. Deret could hear each murmured request for a raised arm or a turn of the head, and wondered what he would say to Edrehasivar if he had the freedom to say anything. But he couldn’t come up with much of anything at all, so perhaps it hardly mattered.</p>
<p>‘And now the jacket – just so.’ Avris. ‘Does Your Serenity know anything about the tradition of the jacket?’</p>
<p>‘No, we do not.’</p>
<p>
  <em>A little steadier. That’s something.</em>
</p>
<p>‘The imperial white, of course, for the emperor; but if Your Serenity cares to look at the cuffs…’</p>
<p>‘That’s – it’s our signet, our cat-serpent? The embroidery is lovely.’</p>
<p>Deret smiled a little to himself. His Serenity was not incapable of imperial gravitas, but there were occasions when he sounded much younger.</p>
<p>‘It <em>is</em> your signet, Serenity, worked into the embroidery here, and into the lining of the jacket – and on each of the buttons. You take yourself and your own symbols to the ceremony, rather than the family emblem of the Drazhada. And tomorrow morning, we have a lovely jacket with similar buttons for you.’</p>
<p><em>What ever you do, you do it as yourself</em>. <em>And when this is over, we will still be here to help you.</em> Deret hoped that Edrehasivar had understood Avris’ meaning.</p>
<p>There was a short pause; a steadying breath; and then Edrehasivar spoke.</p>
<p>‘Thank you, Avris. That is… a good thing to know.’</p>
<p><em>Well done</em>.</p>
<p>Cala entered then, and a minute or so later they were departing.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The edocharo were quiet, though their eyes shone; Csethiro kept a pleasant-thoughts-elsewhere expression carefully on her face as they helped her get ready, not wanting any rumour of discontent to spread. And it was not as though she <em>was</em> discontented, in any case. She had married well, she had made her family proud; the man she had married seemed mild, and kind, and not a bully. And beyond that, the way he spoke to and about his sister, and Arbelan Zhasanai… and he had a woman in his nohecharei… few new wives were half as fortunate.</p>
<p>Csethiro was not as enraptured with the trappings of femininity as some of her sisters or friends, but even she had been charmed by the beauty of an imperial wedding. She had worn her first white, and found that it made her a stranger in the mirror; but she was intrigued rather than distressed. The day had passed in a blur, and now it was night; it was night, and she was being readied to go to her new husband and…</p>
<p>She swallowed. She was prepared for this; she was willing to do her duty, and she quite liked the idea of having children besides. But that did not entirely ease the fluttering of wings in her stomach, the echoes in her mind of a hundred whispered little stories about wedding nights that were passed around the ladies of court like stolen jewels, growing grubbier with every hand they passed through.</p>
<p>She had extracted a reasonable amount of what seemed likely to be sensible information from her eldest sister, who had been married five years and had three children and could be expected to know what she spoke of. It still varied with the man, though. She could not imagine His Serenity – Edrehasivar – <em>Maia</em> – being cruel, she knew by now not to fear that, but beyond that…</p>
<p>‘Zhasan,’ the edocharo murmured, and Csethiro looked at her reflection. She was ethereal, the white nightgown and silver-white robe around it, her hair braided as though for sleep.</p>
<p>One of the edocharo was ready at the door, and so Csethiro nodded and allowed herself to be led out and up the winding stairwell a final turn. On the landing, the soldier of the second nohecharei pair – Csethiro could not recall his name, though she was sure she had heard it said. He gave a bow, and knocked softly on the door. In response to something Csethiro could not hear, he opened it and held it for her, and she left both him and her edocharo on the landing.</p>
<p>The imperial bedchamber was a curious affair – circular, of course, taking up almost the entirety of this floor of the tower. Across from the doors were frosted panels at angles, and she guessed that behind there would be a bath and other arrangements for cleanliness and such. To the left, and not in ready sight from the doorway, was the bed – a tremendous four-poster, with all the curtains drawn except for the side nearest her. And on the edge of the bed sat her husband, also wrapped in a silver-white robe. He gave her a slightly nervous smile when she entered, and she returned it.</p>
<p>‘We – ah, I believe Kiru has spoken to thee about… how this is to work?’ he said. He had wavered on the <em>thee</em>, and she noticed, but she made sure it did not show on her face. She nodded.</p>
<p>‘I understand,’ she said, and tried another small smile. This time his eyes slid away from hers.</p>
<p>‘Very well,’ he said softly. ‘Will – wilt thou join me?’</p>
<p>Csethiro nodded again; she couldn’t quite bring forth words. Something in his tone, his body language… it felt sad, somehow. Lost. As though he had conceded to something. She crossed the room and, after a moment’s hesitation that she hoped he did not see, climbed onto the bed. The curtains had already been pulled most of the way around them, so there was only one side left to close. Kiru Athmaza was stood near the window, her face carefully neutral, and Csethiro wondered what she thought of all this. <em>At least ‘tis the woman this time</em>, she thought, trying to dispel some of her unease.</p>
<p>‘Thank you Kiru, that will be all.’</p>
<p>‘Serenity.’</p>
<p>Kiru Athmaza bowed again to both of them, then stepped back into the position she presumably intended to occupy for the rest of the night, or however long these nohecharei remained on duty. At least she would not be able to hear them for the next hour. Csethiro and – <em>Maia, she must get used to thinking </em>Maia – moved in tandem to close the remaining curtain.</p>
<p>The bed enclosed, they sat across from each other, finally alone.</p>
<p>Within the curtains, one of the posts of the bed supported a little gaslight, and so the space was softly lit without casting any worryingly obvious shadows on the drawn curtains.</p>
<p>They ended up sitting just out of arms reach of each other, both cross-legged and uncertain. Csethiro looked at him. He seemed younger, like this – she had seen little glimpses of how he might be in private at moments during their dancing lessons, but not fully appreciated it. She knew she was three years older than him, but in this moment she did not feel it.</p>
<p>After a long pause in which Csethiro thought of a hundred things – should she say something? Reach for him? What would she say in the morning if it did not go well? – he spoke.</p>
<p>‘Thou lookst lovely,’ he said. She did not think he was lying, but there was a kind of hopelessness to his tone that almost made her flinch. She frowned.</p>
<p>‘Maia, art thou… art thou well?’</p>
<p>A mute nod; then a one-shouldered shrug.</p>
<p>‘I… I am nervous. And, being that nervousness makes things less, um, effectual, I am more nervous still.’ His smile was humourless. ‘Which doesn’t help.’</p>
<p>She blew out a breath. Nerves were understandable. Suddenly she <em>did</em> feel older than him. Certainly she had had more time to prepare for this night. Had he ever thought about it, in that isolated marshlands house? He had told her once that he had never expected to be freed from relegation.</p>
<p>‘Nerves are normal, I hear,’ she offered. ‘And others seem to manage. We needn’t… we needn’t rush.’</p>
<p>He gave her a weak smile. She watched him steady himself, curious; he straightened his posture a little, and though it clearly took him effort, met her eyes.</p>
<p>‘Csethiro,’ he said, in a tone that sounded rehearsed, and her attention sharpened. ‘I want thee to know… I have responsibilities, as an emperor, I must have an heir. But I will not… if thou dost not want to, then we will not. If thou never wishes to, then we will not, and I will formally acknowledge Idra as my heir and deal with any contestation to that as I may. Likewise if thou wishes to but cannot – if we do not succeed in, in conceiving a child, I wish thee to know I will not hold it against thee.’ He did not add <em>as my father did his first wife</em>, but he did not need to.</p>
<p>Csethiro reeled internally. <em>If thou dost not want to</em>… the duty of the emperor and the empress was to ensure succession, it was not that simple, he could not seriously be saying that he would… that he would not expect…</p>
<p>He was watching her, and his expression contained so much – worry and determination and fear, jumbled all together.</p>
<p>‘There are lines that cannot be crossed, not for anything,’ he said quietly. ‘And there are always alternatives. Idra is the most obvious, but Drazhada have adopted heirs from outside the line before. I do not wish thee to feel obligated, for thou art not.’ A pause; a breath; and then he forged on, his voice even quieter than before. ‘And if thou shouldst – political matches are things of the mind, not of the heart. If thou shouldst fall for another, I… I would not keep thee from him, though there would need to be measures to protect the imperial line and absolute discretion.’</p>
<p>She stopped breathing. Had he been any other man, she would have immediately suspected him of having a lover, and seeking to excuse it by granting her the same; but this was not of that nature, she could tell that without a thought. He looked away from her, then looked back.</p>
<p>‘I want thee to be happy.’</p>
<p>
  <em>He speaks true.</em>
</p>
<p>Such arrangements were less common these days, but not unheard of, particularly for political marriages that were under a great deal of pressure to succeed. And was not this the greatest amount of pressure? The eyes of the Ethuveraz were on them; he was yet a new emperor; her response to him would hold a great deal of sway, and any discontent between them would impact how he was viewed by both the court and the populace. But that bore more thinking about at another moment. For now…</p>
<p>Underneath the carefully chosen words – he had practiced them, she thought, picked them out and smoothed them over, it had been important to him that he get them right – he sounded… desperate, almost. <em>Desperate for what? </em>It wasn’t the pleading tone that so often led to a <em>…but</em>. He was committed to what he had said, he believed in it. It was desperation that <em>she</em> believe him. And perhaps fear that she would not.</p>
<p>Csethiro did something then that she almost never did, and certainly had never expected to do on her wedding night.</p>
<p>She let her courtier’s façade drop entirely.</p>
<p>‘Maia, what art thou afraid of?’ she asked.</p>
<p>He gave another uncomfortable, one-shouldered shrug.</p>
<p>‘Becoming my father, I suppose,’ he said softly, looking down at the sheets. ‘Treating thee as… thou art my wife, but I do not <em>own</em> thee. Thou hadst no choice in this match, and that is – that is <em>wrong</em>, it is not how things should be. But I could not find a way out of it, everyone was so insistent and I needed to…’</p>
<p>He gestured vaguely, but she knew. She had been following the politics of court for more than half her life, after all. He had needed to solidify his position at court, becoming a married emperor with potential heirs as soon as possible. It had been a chess move, and she did not begrudge him for it.</p>
<p>‘Why didst thou pick me?’ she asked curiously. ‘I assume just politics…’</p>
<p>‘Politically, yes,’ he said softly, looking distressed. ‘And partly because everyone else was far from me in age or rank, and Osmin Duchenin is…’ he trailed off, pulling a face, and Csethiro bit back the unexpected urge to giggle. <em>Isn’t she just.</em></p>
<p>‘Mm,’ she said, sympathetic.</p>
<p>He looked up at her, nervous.</p>
<p>‘I am sorry. ‘Tis hardly… romantic, or kind.’</p>
<p>‘Tis honest,’ she corrected. ‘And I have never minded that.’ She paused, steeled her nerve, and went on. ‘It seems we’re both in… a similar position, then. Neither of us chose this, precisely.’</p>
<p>Maia nodded – and he was becoming <em>Maia</em> to her rather rapidly, she realised. And it was easy to see why. She had been so determined to weasel out his political strategy, his hidden intentions, that she had entirely missed that he had been telling her who he was the whole time. She recalled his first note to her, tucked in with the formal offer of marriage. <em>We fear this must be strange and awkward for you, as it is to us.</em> She breathed out.</p>
<p>It was peculiar how a brief conversation could completely change her feelings on the subject. Moments ago she had been willing to do her duty – but it had been a duty, and one she was not at all sure she would like. A task to be ticked off. Now… now that was not there, she was free to consider the feelings that lay beneath it. She looked at him, tense and wrapped in the robe, and sorted through her feelings for him.</p>
<p>She liked him, well enough. He was earnest and known as a hard worker and more than a little stubborn. He had a sense of humour that she had seen glimpses of, usually kept muffled under the form and manner of an emperor. He was polite and kind to servants and seemed always to know their names. He listened when she spoke; he did not dismiss her thoughts as idle fancies, and had welcomed her opinion on any number of matters brought up idly in conversation. He had granted his sister freedom; he intended, as she knew from her conversations with him, to support his nieces in attending university if they wished to when they were old enough.</p>
<p>Very well then; someone she liked, and intended to go on to build more of a friendship with. And it was not as though he wasn’t handsome in his own way. She liked his smile, the way it lit his whole expression. He was turning into a good dancer, and she had certainly considered him once or twice in a light that was definitely inappropriate for an unmarried woman to think about. She wanted to try this with someone, someday. And here he was, beautiful in the half-darkness and concerned for her well-being. She swallowed, about to speak, and then hesitated as a thought struck her.</p>
<p>All this fuss about whether <em>she</em> was willing, when she had not asked if <em>he</em> was.</p>
<p>It wasn’t the way these things were usually spoken about, she knew. Men pursued, women either evaded or didn’t. But looking at him there, politely looking away from her to leave her to her own thoughts, tension in every line of his body…</p>
<p>‘Maia? Dost <em>thou</em> want to do this?’ she asked.</p>
<p>He looked up at her, startled. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and she could see him thinking over his words. Then he spoke, slowly.</p>
<p>‘In… in the abstract, yes, of course. I’m not made of stone, and thou art lovely,’ he added, with a nervous smile that made her smile in return. ‘In the particular… I do not know. It would be simpler in many ways if we did. But I wish… I wish we could take our time more. Learn each other better, first.’</p>
<p>She nodded, thinking.</p>
<p>‘Perhaps,’ she tried, ‘if thou wouldst like; we could, tonight. And then we’ve done our duty and no one can say we did not; but then we can take our time, and mayhap return to it when we know each other a little better?’</p>
<p>She watched his face, still not quite familiar enough with him to read it with ease. She thought there might be a little hope there, somewhere.</p>
<p>‘Thou… wouldst like to?’ he said, hesitantly. Csethiro took a breath, and then moved across the bed to sit next to him. He stiffened, but when she reached out her hand, he took it, and he met her eyes.</p>
<p>‘Maia, if we’re to do this – whatever <em>this </em>is, marriage, or friendship, or love, or sex – then I need thou to do one thing for me,’ she said.</p>
<p>‘Of course.’ The resolve was clear. <em>Drazhadeise stubbornness</em>, she thought to herself, oddly fond.</p>
<p>‘When I tell thee I am content with something, I need thee to trust me,’ she said, feeling as though she was speaking her wedding vows once more – but different this time. ‘I <em>need</em> thee to trust me. I promise I will not lie to thee, and that I will tell thee when I am unhappy, but thou must trust when I tell thee the good as well as the bad.’</p>
<p>He looked as though he was barely holding back a smile, albeit a watery one.</p>
<p>‘I – I can do that,’ he said, nodding.</p>
<p>‘Good. And wilt thou be honest in return? Tell me if thou art unhappy or thou wishest not to do something?’</p>
<p>‘I will.’</p>
<p>‘Well, then.’</p>
<p>They sat there quietly, for a minute or so, content in the silence. Csethiro could feel him next to her, a warm presence, and wondered what would happen now.</p>
<p>Suddenly, out of the blue, he spoke.</p>
<p>‘Dost thou ever think it strange, that this one thing is so forbidden and unspoken of at all other times and then on this night is supposed to suddenly be perfect? Even the wedding day had a rehearsal.’</p>
<p>He looked up and met her eyes, and there was nervousness there but also a wry smile.</p>
<p>It wasn’t terribly funny, but Csethiro couldn’t help it; her initial snort burst into full laughter. She was briefly horrified with herself before she realised that he was laughing too; it was some minutes before they subsided, and when they did, some of the discomfort seemed to have eased.</p>
<p>‘Very strange,’ she agreed belatedly. ‘Goddesses, but some social rules are so very stupid.’</p>
<p>He nodded, looking both sheepish and amused.</p>
<p>Csethiro turned in place so that she could look at him properly. He seemed to have lost a little of his fear, now.</p>
<p>‘Maia, thou promised that I would not need to, if I did not want to,’ she said.</p>
<p>He nodded. She took a breath.</p>
<p>‘And if I would quite like to see what it is like? With no expectation or need for it to be perfect,’ she added softly, and watched his eyes widen slightly.</p>
<p>He considered his answer carefully; she could see him turning his thoughts over in his mind the way she had a few minutes ago. What was left now that the apprehension had gone?</p>
<p>‘Then I, too, would quite like to,’ he said after a minute or so, and she saw the way he walked over his nervousness to say it and felt her fondness for him grow. She smiled.</p>
<p>‘From what I know about how this works,’ she confessed, ‘it’s probably still going to be a bit… awkward, the first time.’</p>
<p>He looked relieved.</p>
<p>‘Likewise,’ he said. ‘I mean, it would probably be silly to expect anything else.’</p>
<p>‘Have to start somewhere, though,’ she said, her voice softening. Then she steeled her nerve just enough to move closer. He went very still, and she watched him deliberately relax again. She leaned in, slowly, and after a moment he leaned forward too, and their lips met in a kiss.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>‘Good morning, Zhasan,’ murmured the edocharei, curtsying. Csethiro paused, knowing the warmth of her smile was quite unlike her.</p>
<p>‘Yes, it very much is, isn’t it?’ she said in answer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The quoted text can be found on page 228 of the UK paperback edition.</p>
<p>Also I forgot to mention this last week, but please do note that the tags for the whole fic have been updated. The additions are not specifically for this chapter, just for later material.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Corrections and Clarifications</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heads up for reference to child abuse in this chapter; I've updated the fic tags.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belthelema I, the 71<sup>st</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Ruling more than three-quarters of what is now East Ethuveraz, from the Osreialhalan in the north to Puzhvarno in the south, Belthelema established a number of structures that still persist in today’s Ethuveraz. He was the first emperor to locate the ruling seat in Cetho, instead of the various more central locations that previous emperors had chosen, usually based upon political expediency. In doing so he has been painted as the forerunner of the Conqueror, as Cetho is central to unified Ethuveraz; however, this is revisionist, as it is exceedingly unlikely that a unification was considered even possible at the time.</p><p>Belthelema I is also noted for the establishment of the Nevennamire, and his support of the construction of the Mazan’theileian in close proximity to his court.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>Considerate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fair-minded.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A true gentleman.</em>
</p><p>Those six words seemed to be everywhere at court, accompanied by many expressive eyes and delighted expressions, and then swift changes of subject as though the speaker did not wish to be caught. The young men who heard them noted the tone of approval, assumed instantly that the compliment was generic and would by default apply to themselves, and thought no more on it. The older men who heard them chuckled to each other about young men. And the men who listened to their wives kept their thoughts to themselves, but eyed the young emperor with renewed respect.</p><p>The young ladies who spoke on the subject most fervently knew <em>exactly </em>what those words implied, and a small but significant portion of them shifted from pity for the poor Dach’osmin Ceredin to surprise and a certain amount of jealousy at the luck of Csethiro Zhasan.</p><p>To the household’s relief, His Serenity seemed to pick up in mood in the aftermath of the wedding. He was still quiet, contained, but something seemed to have eased. The zhasan did not stay the night again for several days, but the two of them were often together – she joined Himself for lunch twice, and they took walks around the court gardens, arm in arm. They spoke well of one another, with private smiles and glances away enough to leave the senior nobility full of fond remembrances of youthful affection. The edocharei coordinated with the edocharo to ensure that the zhas and zhasan wore tokens of one another; and if the emperor himself remained reserved and hard to interpret, the new empress had enough courtier’s skill to ensure their relationship was shown in its best light.</p><p>It was the sixth day after the wedding; the zhasan was due to visit again that evening for a private dinner and perhaps to stay the night for only the second time; and the emperor was just closing the yearly court-management meeting, a complicated affair involving an overview of the relation between the court, the Cetho administration, the prelacy, the Athmaz’are, and various other bodies and functionaries.</p><p>The meeting had been long indeed. Csevet fought against the urge to roll his shoulders and flex his hands. Time enough to settle himself soon, he knew; the meeting was done, all that remained was to gather up the papers and follow His Serenity back to the Alcethmeret. His Serenity would then be changing for dinner, and Csevet could take half an hour to relax.</p><p>‘Adremaza, we were wondering if you could assist us in a small matter,’ His Serenity said lightly as the various functionaries made their way out. Csevet stopped himself from frowning; this was not a matter that had been mentioned to him. He hastened his reorganisation of the paperwork, and moved to the top a few matters that seemed most likely to be relevant, listening carefully as His Serenity and the Adremaza exchanged pleasantries.</p><p>When the last of the others had left the room, the Adremaza gave a polite cough.</p><p>‘What was the matter with which we may assist you, Serenity?’</p><p>His Serenity gave a faint smile.</p><p>‘We wish to be certain that you know that we… greatly respect your opinion. Your advice, as the advice of your fellows, is invaluable to us in our work.’</p><p>The Adremaza looked puzzled, but flattered. He would have been looking for a trap from someone else, but no one yet expected sharpness from Edrehasivar VII. Csevet, however, was learning to see when it was approaching.</p><p>‘Thank you, your Serenity. It is our honour.’</p><p>‘And you will, of course, understand that we expect all such advice, whether it be in matters of government or matters of household, to come directly to ourself, as opposed to being directed behind our back.’</p><p><em>There it is</em>. A long time coming; would the Adremaza recall his words to the First Nohecharei well enough to realise what the emperor referred to? The Seconds, on duty on either side of His Serenity, were as blank-faced as ever; it would be interesting to hear what they thought of this later. Csevet continued his neatening of the paperwork, projecting the image of a preoccupied clerk, and watching both His Serenity and the Adremaza without quite appearing to do so. The Adremaza had opened his mouth and closed it once or twice, but his voice quickly returned to him.</p><p>‘Serenity, we sincerely apologise if you feel that we have handled a matter inappropriately –’ he managed, with a good attempt at grace, but Csevet saw the sharpness in the emperor’s eyes and knew that the false apology had been noted. <em>Bad choice, Adremaza.</em></p><p>‘It is not a matter of our feelings, Adremaza. It is proper form.’ His Serenity left a moment’s pause for the rebuke – not harsh, never harsh, but not quite soft either – to sink in before continuing. ‘Our household is our responsibility, and in future, we expect you to come directly to us if you have any concerns regarding any member of it. Even if you do hold some degree of overlapping jurisdiction. Is that quite clear?’</p><p>The Adremaza bowed, and Csevet saw him lick his lips nervously when he did so. Csevet had been keeping a mental note of tells in senior members of government, and he added this one to the list as a possibility with interest.</p><p>‘Of course, Serenity. We apologise.’</p><p>‘Thank you.’ <em>Well done.</em> Csevet had spent several minutes in a rather painful conversation with His Serenity the month before, explaining that the emperor should not dismiss an apology as unnecessary without very good reason, for it trivialised the offence.</p><p>There was a pause, and then His Serenity spoke again.</p><p>‘While the matter is raised, Adremaza, do you have any concerns you wish to raise with us? We are, as we said, quite willing to listen to your view.’</p><p>His Serenity was yet new to politics and so very, very young – but Csevet could already see, in the careful phrasing of moments like this, that he would one day outclass those around him with ease.</p><p>After a long pause, the Adremaza gave a somewhat unsettled smile.</p><p>‘Not at this time, Serenity.’</p><p>‘Very well then. Thank you for speaking with us.’</p><p>The Adremaza took the dismissal with relief and left after the proper forms. Csevet slipped the papers that he had been sorting into a file and followed the emperor out into the corridor.</p><p>~</p><p>Later, while the emperor was at that evening’s after-dinner entertainment and the nohecharei shift had changed, Kiru made her way over to the Mazan’theileian. A few minutes’ walk through the corridors, and then she was at the office she wanted. She knocked, entered, shut the door behind her, and turned to look at the man behind the desk.</p><p>‘Sehelis.’</p><p>The Adremaza heaved a sigh.</p><p>‘Kiru,’ he said shortly.</p><p>‘I hope you know I’ve had to rearrange my prepared speech – beaten to at least part of the task by the emperor, and that seemed to sink in quite well.’</p><p>Sehelis’s brow creased further.</p><p>‘His Serenity was quite correct to ask that I follow the proper channels in future,’ he said stiffly. ‘I don’t see that you could have anything appropriate to add.’</p><p>‘Which is, of course, precisely the problem and exactly why I need to come over here and give you a good ticking off, as I meant to more than a month ago when I found out about this.’</p><p>Sehelis spread his hands.</p><p>‘This is how you speak to your Adremaza?’</p><p>Kiru considered this.</p><p>‘Yes. When he’s being a pillock.’ She knew not to push further than that, but it was enough. Sehelis could be pompous – all that time working with nobility will do that to a man – but he had still grown in the informality of the Athmaz’are, and so a little reminder was easy to provide.</p><p>‘What point did you wish to make.’ A sentence, not really a question at all, but she would take what she could get.</p><p>‘You’re picking on Cala because you got one impression of him when he was fourteen and you’ve never let go of it despite how much he’s grown.’</p><p>‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair –’</p><p>‘No, neither do I, which again is rather the problem.’ She softened. ‘Sehelis, he’s twenty-seven. He was fourteen. And more than half the problem was the other michenmaza and you know it. We’re all awkward for a while at that age.’</p><p>Sehelis conceded to this with a shrug, but by the look on his face it was with bad grace.</p><p>‘What evidence do you have that the behaviour of the First Nohecharei requires correction?’ she asked, trying to keep a lid on her exasperation but only barely succeeding.</p><p>‘I’m fairly certain I’m supposed to take that to His Serenity and nowhere else.’</p><p>‘Sehelis, how long have we known each other? And besides, I’m asking about the correction you have already given. The horse is already loose, don’t stand there holding the gate shut now.’</p><p>Sehelis sighed.</p><p>‘The emperor selected the two of them for the coronation rites,’ he said. ‘When it was meant to be two close members of his family.’</p><p>‘If I remember the rules correctly it’s meant to be two men he can trust with his life,’ Kiru said, sitting down in the chair opposite Sehelis. ‘That’s an accurate description of the nohecharei, if they’re doing their jobs correctly.’ <em>And the fact that he had no one else in his family that he felt that applied to is a less a comment on the first nohecharei than it is a scathing indictment of the way we was treated by the rest of the Drazhada. </em>She kept that last thought to herself, though, considering it too personal to pass on.</p><p>Sehelis considered her words, his mouth twisted slightly, but gave no answer. Kiru rolled her eyes.</p><p>‘What else, then? Perhaps I can clear it up? Or is it just rumours, the sort that start with Csoru Zhasanai and only get more offensive the more they travel?’</p><p>Sehelis put his hands up defensively.</p><p>‘All right, Kiru, all right,’ he said wearily. ‘Perhaps I have been less than rigorous in my assessment of the information. But it does seem to be true that he does not… treat his household in the way one might expect. For an emperor.’</p><p>Kiru raised her eyebrows.</p><p>‘We have not noticed any lapse in formality between His Serenity and any of the staff, least of all the nohecharei,’ she said. ‘He has a different manner to the norm, is all. There’s been no breach of form, and if there were you can be certain Merrem Esaran would be on it in an instant. She has no tolerance for nonsense. Is that all?’</p><p>Sehelis looked at her a while longer before conceding.</p><p>‘That’s all,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’ll trust your word on this, and leave the matter alone.’</p><p>‘And?’</p><p>‘…fine. Please pass on our apologies to Cala Athmaza and Lieutenant Beshelar.’</p><p>It was the best she was going to get.</p><p>‘Thank you, Adremaza,’ she said politely, matching his renewed formality.</p><p>‘Hm.’</p><p>She left, and felt quietly pleased with herself as she headed back to the Alcethmeret. <em>That ought to do it. </em>She had been uncertain as to whether to go forward with it before, not wanting to undermine His Serenity. But Edrehasivar had handled the formal end with grace and an appropriate measure of sternness, enabling her to cover the aspect of it more internal to the Athmaz’are, of which he would not be aware.</p><p>Cala’s reputation in the Athmaz’are was a tricky one – he was known for his proficiency with maz, of course, but also for his ever-skittering interests and lack of friends his own age. As someone who had always been the odd one out herself, Kiru empathised – but Sehelis and some of the others seemed to think that all Cala had to do was try a little harder. She knew better. Some things were baked in, and there was nothing wrong with that.</p><p>Still, <em>that </em>little conversation might quiet the grumbling down for a while. And Cala, at least, would appreciate the apology.</p><p>~</p><p>Two hours later, upstairs in the tower bedroom, Maia and Csethiro sat across from one another on the bed once more – this time, however, Maia felt considerably less weighed-down. The wedding night had been… he fought back a blush just thinking about it, but it had been <em>nice</em>. Awkward, and unpractised, but… nice. To share the awkwardness, to have their newness be mutual…</p><p>He wasn’t opposed to trying again, he thought, but he was glad they had agreed to take some time to get to know each other first. It put less pressure on this evening, certainly, for they could talk and feel no other obligation.</p><p>Csethiro, who had been toying with the inside of the bed curtain, straightened her posture somewhat and looked up at him.</p><p>‘Maia, I need to talk to thee,’ she said. ‘About – about what thou said on the wedding night. About… if I fell for another.’</p><p>Maia was suddenly, desperately grateful that he had long since learned to keep his face unmoving, his ears neutral. <em>Thou knewst this might happen. Thou madest a promise. Now thou must follow through. </em>He forced himself to nod and try for an attentive expression.</p><p>Perhaps his attempted blankness was not quite as good as he thought, for Csethiro looked worried.</p><p>‘I haven’t – that is to say, I have no lover, that I can promise thee,’ she said. ‘I just. Well…’</p><p>He could see her steeling herself.</p><p>‘I meant what I said,’ he said softly. ‘I do not own thee. All I ask is for thy discretion, and for us to protect the imperial line.’</p><p>She nodded, her teeth worrying her lower lip slightly. Maia found the mannerism rather endearing – it was not often he saw other courtiers without their perfect court-faces, but Csethiro seemed to relax a little when they were alone together. <em>Thou art growing fond of her. Presumptuous, when she has little choice.</em></p><p>He pushed the thought to one side, concentrating on Csethiro, who seemed to have found her voice again.</p><p>‘There is a… relatively simple solution to the latter,’ she said carefully. ‘To protecting the imperial line. I would, if I chose a lover –’ the tips of her ears were faintly pink, Maia noticed, and then wished he hadn’t ‘– I might choose a woman.’</p><p>~</p><p>Maia nodded slowly, and Csethiro tried to relax a little, but it was difficult. He still had not said anything, though he did not look angry. Then again, she did still find him hard to read.</p><p>‘It is not…’ she tried, and then restarted. ‘I am fond of thee, and I do find men appealing. But I also… women also appeal to me, and I would very much be content to keep any… any occurrences – if indeed I had any, which I may not – to women. Then there is no risk of confusion over a child’s father.’</p><p>There was a very long silence, stretching out until Csethiro was almost ready to start tearing the pillows apart in her nerves. And then Maia, looking distinctly as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, said hesitantly,</p><p>‘Is not… is not that normal?’</p><p>Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it was not that. She blinked. Opened her mouth, then closed it again. </p><p>‘Maia, what dost thou mean?’ she said slowly, a realisation dawning but not one she was willing to trust just yet. <em>Surely not. Though he did grow up in comparative isolation…</em></p><p>Maia fidgeted, his fingers tugging at the sheet, and she had to suppress the urge to hurry him. <em>Let him think.</em></p><p>‘Well – I know of, um, of marnei, men who only… to whom only other men appeal, and I know that is considered, at the very least, unusual. And some people disapprove, though others seem not to, and I –’ he shrugged uncomfortably ‘- well, I do not know enough about it to have an opinion, I think. And I know that marriage is only for a man and a woman, so that they may have children and so that the law knows which of them has left their own family and, and joined another. But, surely… I thought…’ He trailed off, biting his lower lip.</p><p>Csethiro nodded slowly, keeping her thoughts to herself.</p><p>‘Maia,’ she said carefully, ‘do you find people… appealing? Regardless of gender.’</p><p>Maia looked rather uncertain.</p><p>‘Well, of <em>course</em>,’ he said. ‘That’s just – I thought – well, I assumed it wasn’t proper to speak of at court. Nobility must have a family line, and suchlike. But… thou speakest as though – as though to do so isn’t…’</p><p>‘We feel much the same as thee,’ she said quickly, wanting to reassure him. ‘Truly, it seems normal to us – and it’s certainly more common than is typically spoken of. But… most folks are only drawn to the opposite sex. Um. Everyone else is considered marnei.’</p><p>‘…oh.’</p><p>‘And as for some people disapproving, well,’ Csethiro continued, not liking how small Maia had made himself across from her, nor the way he was staring down at the bedsheets, ‘that is because they are either very ignorant, or because they are simply seeking an excuse to be cruel. <em>Those</em> people would find something wrong with their identical twin if they wished to, and no one should pay them any heed.’</p><p>Maia was still not looking at her. Csethiro huffed a little, and then moved across the bed to sit next to him. She took care to make sure he noticed her approach – he would flinch slightly if she touched him unexpectedly, she had noticed, and had stored that piece of information away for careful consideration in the future. For now she simply made a little more of a production of changing position than was necessary, and then making sure to put her hand in his eyeline before she placed it on his knee. He looked up at that, and gave her a faint smile.</p><p>‘Well,’ he said. ‘I have… learnt something? At least. Um. I thank thee.’ He took a breath and then let it out slowly. ‘I suppose it must be just… one of the hazards of living away from, well, people. To not know this sort of thing.’</p><p>Csethiro moved again, this time sitting beside him. Gently, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and got both of them leaning against the headboard. After a little hesitation, and Csethiro’s encouragement, Maia rested his head on her shoulder and sighed.</p><p>‘Comfortable?’</p><p>‘Yes – art thou?’</p><p>‘Mm-hm.’</p><p>There was a pause, and then a thought occurred to Csethiro.</p><p>‘Maia – I meant it when I said that ‘tis more common that often thought,’ she said. ‘There are plenty of people at court – and most here think of it as simply a private matter rather than a particularly scandalous one.’</p><p>From what she could see of his expression at this angle, she had piqued his interest.</p><p>‘…who – ah, no, ‘tis an inappropriate question,’ he said. ‘Not my business.’</p><p>‘The <em>facts </em>are not thy business, agreed,’ said Csethiro, shifting her hand to toy with the end of his sleep braid. ‘But rumour is the blood of the Untheileneise Court, and ‘tis an emperor’s responsibility to be aware of it.’</p><p>The calculated innocence in her voice was enough to provoke a small laugh out of him.</p><p>‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘What are these rumours?’</p><p>Csethiro considered her approach. People she actually knew about, popular targets of rumours that were likely accurate, popular targets of rumours that were likely inaccurate, and people no one gossiped about but she herself suspected… the first category was off limits, at least in terms of <em>confirmation</em>. Those were confidences that Csethiro would not betray and that Maia would have to earn. But common knowledge or reputation? Those were fair game.</p><p>‘Probably the highest rank of the men to be rumoured about is the Marquess Lantheval,’ she said, and laughed when Maia made a shocked exclamation.</p><p>‘Truly?’</p><p>‘Well, he has spent his whole life unmarried, without a hint of an affair, and has elected not to hasten his niece to marriage either. ‘Tis enough for many to conclude his interest lies solely in men.’</p><p>‘And no one <em>minds</em>?’</p><p>‘He is a little too wealthy and powerful to be concerned as to whether or not anyone else minds. Besides, with the Lord Pashavar as a rather defensive friend, he is doubly protected.’</p><p>‘Pashavar knows?’</p><p>Csethiro tipped a hand from side to side. ‘Could go either way, though my guess is he does. Pashavar is extremely traditional, but that only means he likely thinks it inappropriate to discuss rather than inappropriate to <em>be</em>.’</p><p>‘Hm.’</p><p>They were quiet for a few moments, and then Maia spoke.</p><p>‘Sorry, Csethiro,’ he said. ‘Thou wert working up to something, and I have… derailed the subject.’</p><p>Csethiro laughed.</p><p>‘I was working up to telling thee I liked women,’ she said. ‘That was all. And, I suppose…’ the other thought wasn’t properly formulated, really, more a memory of various books on court history tied to what she thought she knew of Maia, but perhaps it was worth discussing…</p><p>‘Thou supposest...?’ Maia asked gently. She liked him like this – relaxed and smiling, the weight of the world off his shoulders for a handful of minutes. She took a breath, and pressed forward.</p><p>‘Maia, dost thou know what a kerich agreement is?’</p><p>~</p><p>Across the court, in respectable but less ornate rooms, a very different conversation was occurring.</p><p>‘How can I trust thee again? That thou wouldst raise thy hand is enough to cause me to despair of thee, do not be mistaken, but that thou wouldst <em>lie </em>to me also – what more wouldst thou lie about?’</p><p>‘Nothing – never –’</p><p>‘Nothing! Never! Why shouldst I believe thee? No, Setheris. I have thought, and thought – I have wracked my heart in trying to forgive thee, trying to understand – and I come to this. I cannot trust thee; I cannot trust thy word; I cannot trust thy oath, and so it means nothing. I leave to stay with my sister in the morning. When I have my affairs in order, I will put in the petition for divorce, and I expect thee to grant it.’</p><p>‘And if I refuse?’</p><p>‘Then I will beg audience with thy misused cousin, our emperor, and ask his sympathy and permission. I would be very surprised if he did not grant it; I avoid it only to save myself the shame. But if thou wilt not –’</p><p>‘No, Hesero, I – I will. In the morning, or... whatever thou wishest. Please. I was – I was so alone, and so afraid; I am sorry.’</p><p>‘The beating of a child is not a broken plate, Setheris. Thou art proven as the kind of man who will harm another on a <em>whim</em>, and being <em>alone</em> and <em>afraid </em>does not excuse that. Thou madest a choice, each time, and now here are the consequences. Less than thou deservest.’</p><p>‘But – but – <em>Hesero –</em>’</p><p>‘All that time, swearing to me that thou hadst not committed treason. That thou wert ambitious, but never treacherous.’</p><p>‘I was not. I committed no treason, thou <em>knowest</em> –’</p><p>‘You betrayed <em>us</em>. You betrayed your <em>charge</em>, the <em>child in your care</em>. And in doing so you betrayed your emperor.’</p><p>‘Varenechibel never gave a damn about –’</p><p>‘Don’t you <em>dare </em>bring that man’s failures to your defence. Another man’s wrongdoing is not your redemption.’</p><p>Silence, long and pained. Then a sigh.</p><p>‘Go to bed. We both need sleep.’</p><p>‘Hesero –’</p><p>‘<em>No</em>. No more, now.’ A hitch of breath. ‘Goodnight, Setheris.’</p><p> ‘…Goodnight, Hesero.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm back! Thank you for all your well-wishes, having The Current Plague was not particularly fun but I'm fully recovered now :) I hope you're all doing well yourselves. &lt;3</p><p>H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Apple Unbitten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrethelema VI, 188<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Edrethelema VI was the last emperor of the four who contributed to the construction of the current Untheileneise Court; it was completed in the twelfth year of his reign. By his coronation it was, therefore, largely complete, but Edrethelema nevertheless had significant input: the development of pneumatic messaging systems had attracted his interest, and he delayed the construction in order to add more than twenty miles of tube for the purposes of efficient court communication. This remains in use today. Edrethelema additionally pushed for additions to the staff areas that encouraged more staff to lodge at the court itself, rather than in Cetho.</p><p>Edrethelema VI was also noted for a number of mistresses and affairs that shocked even besides the lax standards of his court. He was succeeded by his second son after disinheriting the first for reasons never made public.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>It was a late spring evening, after a very long day of work, on which the nohecharei were updated on the nature of the imperial relationship.</p><p>The three edocharei had just left and Cala was absently considering his current field of research (migratory birds of the Osreialhalan) while checking the wards around the tower, when the emperor spoke into the darkness.</p><p>‘Cala, um.’ His tone seemed nervous but not frightened. Cala looked in the direction of the bed, though he could not see much more than an outline.</p><p>‘Serenity?’</p><p>A pause.</p><p>‘Cala, do you know what a kerich agreement is?’ The words came out in a rush, as though it had taken him some effort to get them out – and Cala could guess why.</p><p>A kerich agreement was the term for a marriage that… well, there were variations, but it meant an agreement had been formed around having relations with people outside the marriage. Permission, but conditions. Keeping his tone even and free of judgement, Cala responded.</p><p>‘Yes, Serenity. They are not as common as they once were, but they’re certainly still in use at court.’</p><p>Not that Cala knew exactly who, but he would be very surprised if the practice had died out. Most of the nobility still married for political or financial reasons, and those marriages <em>had</em> to work – sometimes the easiest way to ensure that they would was to make sure that people had a degree of freedom. Albeit under certain constraints.</p><p>‘We, ah. Cseth- the zhasan and ourself have decided that – we will have one.’</p><p>Cala chose his words carefully.</p><p>‘We understand, Serenity,’ he said. ‘We are glad that yourself and the zhasan are able to trust one another in such a way.’</p><p>Another pause, and Cala thought he could almost <em>hear </em>Edrehasivar chewing that one over. If he’d thought Cala would be judgemental about it, he had been mistaken. Cala had no objection to this sort of thing – it seemed to him a perfectly sensible solution to being unable to pursue one’s desires directly. But did that mean…</p><p>‘Thank you, Cala,’ the emperor said eventually. ‘We felt that the nohecharei should be informed. Not that we intend – there is no one that – it seems unlikely we would –’</p><p>One was not supposed to interrupt an emperor, but sometimes it was more important to be merciful than to be proper.</p><p>‘It is useful for us to be aware of it, Serenity,’ Cala said, ‘and we assume it is something you would prefer we keep between the four of us?’ <em>In other words, shall I pass this on to the other three to save you the trouble?</em></p><p>‘Ah, yes, please, if you would.’</p><p>Cala hesitated, and then decided it was probably kinder to have the entire matter done with in one conversation rather than to drag it out.</p><p>‘Serenity, may we ask what the rules of the agreement are, if they are decided?’ he asked. ‘While we very much doubt that the zhasan would ever behave improperly, we are supposed to report anything we notice on the subject to yourself, and we would hate to embarrass either of you by picking up on something that had already been agreed to.’</p><p>Edrehasivar made a distinctly un-imperial sound of uncertainty; Cala reached for reassurance.</p><p>‘Serenity, it is a fairly unremarkable arrangement by court standards, and it is neither our place nor our inclination to judge your decision to use it,’ he said.</p><p>Edrehasivar let out a long breath.</p><p>‘We know,’ he said quietly. ‘And we thank you.’</p><p>Cala inclined his head instinctively, even though the emperor could not see him.</p><p>‘Very well,’ Edrehasivar said, after several moments’ thought. ‘The conditions of our agreement – either one of us may engage in a – in a relationship, with another person, provided that we maintain absolute discretion, and that we do not in so doing… endanger the imperial line. This may mean… confining the nature of the relationship… or confining relationships to those, ah, of the – of the same gender.’</p><p><em>Well, now. That answers </em>that<em> question. Or, at least, it opens some possibilities…</em></p><p>‘We understand, Serenity; thank you for keeping us informed,’ he said.</p><p>‘You are welcome,’ the emperor said, tone teetering between excess formality and sheepishness. ‘Goodnight, Cala.’</p><p>‘Goodnight, Serenity.’</p><p>The minutes ticked softly past, and Cala turned his thoughts over in his mind between ward-checks and sight-checks of the room. It was possible it was only the zhasan who was marno – but it was equally possible that His Serenity…</p><p>He would speak to Kiru, Deret, and Coris when he could do so discreetly. In the meantime, what was important? That His Serenity was content with the arrangement. He had sounded so, underneath the discomfort of speaking about it. It bore keeping an eye on, but there was every chance that nothing much would come of it. And even if it did, they were two sensible people; Cala felt confident that this was something the imperial couple could navigate as it suited them.</p><p>Shifting his weight, he carefully set the matter to one side in his mind, trying to ignore the thought that was inevitably making itself heard anyway.</p><p>
  <em>What might this mean for Csevet?</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>While the imperial marriage, privately and publicly, seemed to be both comfortable and affectionate, not everything in the imperial life was proceeding as smoothly.</p><p>It had been a quiet day of steady work – Esaran’s favourite kind. She had just gotten comfortable at her little desk in the corner of the kitchen and was going over the accounts when Kiru and Coris arrived, having just finished their shift.</p><p>Ebremis greeted them, still in the process of finishing their meals. Staff ate at set times designed to avoid the kitchen having to prepare their food simultaneously with the emperor’s, but nohecharei were entitled to a meal whenever was convenient to them.</p><p>‘I’m a few minutes delayed,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Won’t be long though.’</p><p>‘No rush, Ebremis – our thanks, as always.’ Kiru all but fell into a chair and then let her head fall onto her folded arms. Coris sat down next to her, looking glum. Esaran raised her eyebrows at them.</p><p>‘Trouble?’ she asked.</p><p>Coris pulled a face.</p><p>‘Just the usual, though I wish it wasn’t,’ Kiru said, her voice muffled. Then she pulled herself upright and sighed. ‘With all due respect to the people in this room, what is it about young men that makes them so determined to forge through their problems and never let anyone help them?’</p><p>There was a little laughter at that, but given that ‘the people in this room’ included four men under twenty-five it had a sheepish edge.</p><p>‘Himself?’ Avris asked from his place at the sink, where he was rinsing some cleaning cloths. ‘He didn’t seem right again this morning.’</p><p>‘He seemed sad before the wedding,’ Nemer said. ‘Closed-off. Now it’s got more of an edge to it. Though he said he was well when I asked.’</p><p>‘He was off all day,’ Coris said, leaning back in the chair and stretching his back. ‘He was masking it well, for the most part – I don’t think it was publicly obvious. But when you’re with him the whole time… he snapped at Csevet twice. Apologised immediately, of course, and his version of a snap isn’t exactly harsh, but still. And he’s back to over-checking his work again.’</p><p>‘If I’m counting right, that makes every day this week he’s been like that,’ Avris said. ‘It’s not as though it hurts <em>us.</em> I don’t mind him being in a poor temper – everyone is, sometimes. But…’</p><p>‘But it’s not like him, and I don’t like that he won’t talk about the cause,’ Nemer finished for him, and Avris nodded in agreement.</p><p>‘So do we know what’s given his mood a kicking?’ Ebremis asked, bringing the nohecharei their food. ‘I thought he’d picked up after the wedding.’</p><p>‘He did,’ Kiru agreed, digging in. ‘At least… their marriage seems to be going well. They’re clearly fond of each other, new though it is.’</p><p>‘So it’s not her, thankfully,’ Esha said. ‘That’s a blessing. It gives him one more person to turn to.’</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>Esaran still had the accounts open in front of her, but all her attention was on the conversation. The priority of the staff was the emperor’s wellbeing, but it could be a challenging matter. And for all he had been at court more than half a year now, Edrehasivar was in many ways still a mystery.</p><p>Avris sighed.</p><p>‘I don’t know what we can do for him. If it’s luxury or comforts, he must know he can have anything he asks for.’</p><p>‘Maybe it’s the asking for that’s the problem,’ Nemer piped up. ‘He’s always so reluctant to put anyone out. But he knows he can, so I don’t know what else we can do to encourage him.’</p><p>‘He needs rest, but we also need to work out why this is happening and how to make it stop,’ Kiru said, waving her fork in frustration.</p><p>‘He needs to eat more, and sleep better,’ added Ebremis from the stove. ‘And neither of those things are as easy as people think they are.’</p><p>‘Is it just overwork?’ Esaran said, with a slightly questioning tone. She was the house steward, but she did not see His Serenity with the frequency that some of the other staff did, and trusted their judgement. ‘Perhaps speaking to Ushenar might help? Or Berenar, to help adjust the workload?’</p><p>‘We’ve suggested both,’ Coris said. ‘He brushed us off. We can press the matter a little, but if he’s not willing to try...’</p><p>The kitchen subsided into quiet. Esaran frowned, her eyes wandering over the figures in the accounts book without taking them in.</p><p>‘I’m sure he’ll work it out,’ Esha said quietly. ‘We just need to keep our standards, and keep watching for opportunities to help. The zhasan’s staying over tomorrow night – perhaps he’ll talk to her.’</p><p>‘We can only hope,’ Kiru said.</p><p>~</p><p>The mood of the emperor, which seemed to decline further as the days passed, made the following incident all the more unexpected. It was a clear day in late spring, the last before the first days of summer, and it was Csevet’s birthday. The emperor, having somehow obtained knowledge of this (from Esha, Cala knew), had passed a message (via Cala) to the undersecretaries as to whether or not they could, with preparation, manage without Mer Aisava for one day. Having been given to understand that they could, on that morning the emperor wished his secretary a happy birthday, and informed him that in thanks for all of his hard work he was to take the day for his own leisure.</p><p>Cala, who had just finished his shift as Csevet was granted his freedom, caught up with him in the east gardens. He slowed down to fall in step beside him.</p><p>‘Csevet,’ he said. ‘Damn, thought I’d lost thee for a minute there. Hopefully no one saw me – a running maza tends to unsettle people.’</p><p>He gave a little laugh at this, but Csevet did not respond. Cala glanced around, flicking out a touch of maz to be sure no one was watching, picked a spot, and then took Csevet firmly by the arm and led him there. It was a discreet place amongst the hedgerows, not in clear view from any direction, where they should be able to talk for a little while in private. Though he did make a mental note to be careful about the timing of their exit, for anyone seeing them would be certain they had had a tryst, and no one needed that gossip passed about – let alone reaching Himself’s ears.</p><p>‘Sit down, come on. It’s dry.’</p><p>Csevet obeyed in silence, and then the two of them were sat there in the shade. Cala leaned back on his hands and blew out a long sigh, wondering where to start.</p><p>‘Thou shouldst be resting,’ Csevet said quietly.</p><p>Cala shrugged.</p><p>‘And thou shouldst be delighting in thy surprise day of freedom,’ he said. ‘But I think we both know why thou art not.’</p><p>Cala had expected shock, or denial, but Csevet gave no sign of either, only staring intently at the ground as though there was something there he very much wanted to crush.</p><p>‘It was a kind thing for him to do,’ he said after a minute. His voice was sharp and he did not look at Cala, who nodded slowly.</p><p>‘It was,’ he said. ‘But kind things don’t always have kind results.’</p><p>‘That isn’t his fault.’</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>Cala wondered what percentage of fault it was if a person didn’t <em>ask</em> to see what someone would like and just gave it to them anyway, but knew better than to make that point aloud. There were, however, other things that might merit simply being blunt.</p><p>‘Have you considered just… telling him?’ he said.</p><p>Csevet turned on him immediately.</p><p>‘Art thou mad?’ he said, spluttering but still keeping his voice low. ‘He’s happily married, and that’s – that’s only the most prominent of the many reasons why not.’</p><p>He said it as though there could be no possible argument. Cala conceded to this with a tilt of the head.</p><p>‘Tis true, he’s happily married. But…’</p><p>‘There is no “but” in that sentence,’ Csevet said firmly.</p><p>‘There is, I’ve been in the imperial bedchamber.’</p><p>Now <em>that</em> was enough to shock him.</p><p>‘Cala Athmaza!’ Csevet hissed, before shaking his head in reluctant laughter. ‘Thou art a disgrace.’</p><p>Cala smirked.</p><p>‘I’ve never denied that.’</p><p>They lapsed into silence. After a few minutes, Cala tried again.</p><p>‘Why canst thou not tell him? I know ‘tis obvious to thee, and I’m not a fool either, but tell me anyway.’</p><p>Csevet let out a long, slow breath.</p><p>‘Because the best-case scenario is that he nods, we agree to never discuss the matter again, and I have to do my work every day with it hanging between us,’ he said. ‘And the worst-case scenario…’ he trailed off, his fingers toying with a blade of grass.</p><p>‘I cannot think that Himself would be insensitive,’ Cala ventured. ‘He is a kind man; he is fond of thee. I would not judge thee for keeping the matter private, I only though that thou shouldst not live in fear of –’</p><p>When Csevet interrupted him, it was in a hard, brittle voice that did not seem as though it belonged to him.</p><p>‘Himself would be mortified. We do not even know what his opinion of such things is, and we suspect he barely comprehends that such people as ourself exist. We would have to confess and then immediately remove ourself from employment, from the best position we have ever had.’ There was a beat, and then Csevet added, with a small humourless smile, ‘And after that, Herself would probably skewer us at the first opportunity.’</p><p>Cala held back on the urge to shake him, or at least use a maz to douse him in cold water. <em>He does not have thy knowledge, hasty maza. And ‘tis only a hunch to thee, besides.</em> Instead, he rubbed his face with hands, and bit back quite a few things he knew he shouldn’t say.</p><p>‘You do both of them discredit,’ he said eventually, and saw Csevet wilt, fractionally, in response to the disapproving tone.</p><p>‘I will not do that,’ said Csevet quietly, with a shake of his head, ‘which is why I will say nothing. And thee – thou wilt say nothing either?’ There was a slight hesitance in this, and Cala regretted having been so harsh.</p><p>‘Of course not,’ he said, willing Csevet to trust him. ‘Thou hast my word. As I said, I have no objection to thee keeping it to thyself – I would, an ‘twere me. I just don’t think thou shouldst live in fear over it.’ He paused. ‘And you can trust that no one else will say anything either, if they guess; no one wants to risk thee doing something stupid. Such as leaving. Where would any of us be without thee, Csevet?’</p><p>Csevet waved him off.</p><p>‘Hush, you’d all manage,’ he said.</p><p>‘Himself would be devastated if thou left,’ Cala said softly, and watched it land.</p><p>‘…Yes. I know.’</p><p>Another silence, while Cala tried to sort through what he could and could not share. Ah, there <em>was</em> something.</p><p>‘Himself does know that people like thee exist,’ Cala said. ‘It has come up – after the assassination attempt, at Winternight.’</p><p>Csevet’s face was unreadable, but something in his posture tensed.</p><p>‘I recall,’ he said quietly.</p><p>‘He didn’t seem to think much of it – that is, he didn’t seem to think it was remarkable, or a reason to condemn someone.’</p><p>‘He wouldn’t have said anything if he had, he’s too polite. And besides, even without that, ‘tis not reciprocated. Perhaps I would be lucky and he would not think less of me; but then he would pity me, which is worse.’</p><p>Cala threw his hands up in in exasperation.</p><p>‘Csevet, I’m not suggesting thou shouldst proposition the man – I’m not even saying thou <em>shouldst </em>tell him at all. But thou shouldst talk to <em>someone </em>about how thou feelest, and shouldst stop dwelling in it as a misery. If thou art unhappy –’</p><p>Csevet stood abruptly and Cala fell silent, worried that he had gone too far.</p><p>‘We thank you for your advice, Cala Athmaza, but we have been granted a day of freedom in which to celebrate our birthday, and it would be wasteful and ungrateful to not make the most of it. We shall undoubtedly encounter you at a later point. Good day.’</p><p>…he had <em>definitely </em>gone too far, he thought glumly as he watched Csevet stride off without a single glance back. But then, it needed to be said. Well, <em>something </em>had needed to be said. Maybe he should have left it to Deret. Or Kiru. Or Coris. Or left the matter entirely. He sighed, and got to his feet. He needed sleep, that at least was certain. Perhaps the problem would be clearer when he woke.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. To Drown on Dry Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Beltanthiar IV, the 114<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>Known as a nervous child and an anxious young man, Beltanthiar IV was very sheltered by his father after his older brother was killed by Orava the Usurper during the latter’s attempt on the throne. This undoubtedly contributed to his focus on safety throughout his reign – a focus some historians have labelled paranoia, though that is perhaps unfair. Beltanthiar IV was responsible for great increases in the security of the imperial family, expanding the size of the Untheileneise Guard threefold, and adding both rules and laws limiting access to the imperial person.</p>
<p>He had a relatively quiet reign, and produced nine children – the highest number of legitimate children of any emperor to date.</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The day had been a slog. The <em>week</em> had been a slog. But that was normal. Thinking back, Maia could not to recall the last time that he hadn’t pushed through the day on the edge of exhaustion. But this was his role now, he reminded himself. He had responsibilities to attend to. Endless responsibilities.</p>
<p>He dragged his attention back to the matter at hand: Lord Berenar, sitting across from him in the Tortoise Room. Maia put down the paper he had finished looking over (a report on the progress of Berenar’s changes to the chancellery), and tried to find a grateful expression.</p>
<p>‘We thank you, Lord Berenar; this is excellent work.’</p>
<p>‘Thank you, Serenity.’</p>
<p><em>And that’s all, so at least this meeting’s over. </em>Then he would ask Csevet what else needed squeezing in before dinner, then he would need to dress for dinner and attend, then there was some social event to endure afterwards, and <em>then</em>, <em>finally</em>, he would be able to sleep.</p>
<p>If he <em>could</em> sleep, which was hardly a guarantee these days. Bad dreams and nightmares seemed to be the way of things most nights now. But it would be dark, and quiet, and perhaps that would be just enough before he rose to handle tomorrow’s troubles.</p>
<p>Maia gave Berenar a polite smile.</p>
<p>‘If that is all, Lord Berenar, then we shall not keep you.’</p>
<p>Berenar hesitated.</p>
<p>‘If you will forgive us, Serenity, there is in fact one further matter we wish to discuss with you. And it is a somewhat delicate one.’</p>
<p><em>Wonderful. </em>One more matter. Just one more. <em>Always </em>one more.</p>
<p>‘Of course, Lord Berenar. What is the matter in question?’ he said, pushing the weariness back and down, keeping his back straight and his ears up.</p>
<p>‘Serenity…’ Berenar said, and then halted himself and began again. ‘It has been a… difficult year for many at court, but perhaps for Your Serenity most of all.’</p>
<p>Maia nodded, and then abruptly remembered it was inappropriate of him to respond wordlessly – but Berenar continued before he could amend it.</p>
<p>‘We believe you have achieved a great deal over the last ten months, Serenity, and we hope that you take pride in that – we are honoured to be your Lord Chancellor, and we know the senior government is both pleased and impressed by your dedication to the responsibilities of your position.’</p>
<p><em>‘Tis not like Berenar to fill the air with meaningless flattery. What sting is he attempting to sweeten?</em> Maia fought the urge to grit his teeth, but knew that his jaw had tensed. He carefully did not look at Csevet, though he knew the secretary’s expression might give him a hint of what was coming.</p>
<p>‘However,’ Berenar continued. ‘We must express our concern. You have been under a great deal of pressure, and it has been noted by one or two of your government that you seem… weary, and perhaps over-stressed. Your well-being is of the utmost importance, and we wish to confirm that all is…well.’</p>
<p>Maia thought he had never come so close to losing his temper. <em>Weary. Over-stressed. Noted by one or two of your government. </em>Relying heavily on every hard-learned manner he had, he raised his chin slightly and tilted his head a little. <em>Back straight. Ears up. Neutral expression.</em></p>
<p>‘Have we completed any of our work to an unacceptable standard?’ he asked, grateful to be able to keep his tone steady. Berenar frowned.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, your work is not the issue – were there flaws in it, we would have addressed them as we saw them. What concerns us is the more personal matter of your own well-being.’</p>
<p>Every time Maia thought he had adjusted to the emperor’s lack of privacy, some other aspect of it would rise up. This was one such matter – the emperor’s personal feelings were, apparently, the subject of government discussion. And could therefore be brought up and corrected, if they were not suitable.</p>
<p>Part of Maia knew he was being a little unfair, but a greater part of him was too busy feeling exposed and defensive.</p>
<p>‘If our work is not impeded, we do not see that it is a subject relevant to our government,’ he said. Berenar raised his eyebrows, and leant back slightly in his chair. Csevet, whom Maia had been attempting to ignore, was almost completely motionless to Maia’s right, watching both of them.</p>
<p>‘The task you do is a challenging one,’ Berenar said, after a few moments’ consideration. ‘It is not unreasonable to be worn down by it. But we would urge caution – while your dedication is appreciated, now that the aftermath of the winter events has largely passed there is little that cannot occasionally be delayed. Your Serenity must have a care for your health. We do not offer this as an intrusion; merely as advice, in our position as one of your many advisors.’</p>
<p>Maia felt as though his head was thrumming with a low buzz of anger. <em>Don’t. Do not, hobgoblin. Keep thy tongue. Keep thy temper. How does Edrehasivar respond? Not Maia, not the angry child, how does the </em>emperor<em> respond?</em></p>
<p>But it was almost impossible to reign in. He worked so <em>hard</em>, and now he was <em>failing</em> –</p>
<p>He had been silent for too long. Berenar was watching him with concern.</p>
<p>‘What do you suggest?’ Maia asked, barely managing to prevent it from being a snap. Perhaps he did not quite succeed, for he saw Csevet stiffen in the corner of his eye.</p>
<p>‘Your Serenity should take some time for yourself,’ Berenar said bluntly, unperturbed. ‘Take this evening, dine here and rest. Take tomorrow off.’</p>
<p><em>No. </em>‘We have matters to attend to –’</p>
<p>‘Serenity, they will wait one day,’ Berenar cut in, insistent. ‘Your health may not be so patient.’</p>
<p>Maia said nothing, because all he could think to say he knew he would later regret. Instead he folded all of the shame and embarrassment and anger into a tight little ball in his chest, and managed an approximation of a polite nod.</p>
<p>‘We shall consider your advice, Lord Chancellor,’ he said, and knew he sounded far colder than Berenar deserved. Csevet, between the two of them, kept his face impeccably neutral, but Maia thought he detected a slight lowering of his ears in disappointment.</p>
<p>‘We hope so, Serenity,’ Berenar said stiffly. ‘It does you and those around you no good to force yourself forward with no rest. Your example is followed by many at court; we know much of your time here has been consumed with urgent matters, and we hope now that those are largely concluded you will see fit to take the rest appropriate to your station as well as to your workload.’</p>
<p>Before Maia could even begin to work out a response, his thoughts a tangled mess, Berenar rose and bowed.</p>
<p>‘We will, with your permission, leave you to your work, Serenity,’ he said. ‘And we urge you to consider the matter and take at least this evening and tomorrow to rest.’</p>
<p>Maia could see the concern in his eyes again, and could not bear it. Instead he looked away, at the early evening sky visible through the window of the Tortoise Room.</p>
<p>‘Thank you, Lord Chancellor,’ he said. When Berenar had left, he turned stubbornly back to his paperwork, his whole body daring Csevet or the nohecharei to comment. They did not, though when he glanced up he thought they might have been exchanging looks on the subject. This did not improve his mood.</p>
<p>Berenar had been the last appointment of the day, though there was an hour before dinner. Maia worked defiantly for half of it before rising to get ready – and then something happened, he was not entirely sure what, and suddenly he was only half-upright, held firmly from falling further by Beshelar.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, are you well?’</p>
<p>He got his feet under himself and pulled away.</p>
<p>‘Fine, fine,’ he muttered, looking away. There was an awkward moment of silence.</p>
<p>‘Serenity,’ Beshelar said, his tone indicating his lack of hope for success, ‘the Lord Chancellor is correct. You are exhausted, and it would be entirely appropriate for you to dine privately tonight, that you can rest earlier.’</p>
<p>‘There is no error in it,’ Cala put in worriedly. ‘No one is perfectly well at all times. And if –’ a minute little pause ‘– if you intend to work tomorrow, despite – if you intend to work tomorrow, then perhaps it would help to have a restful evening, at least.’</p>
<p>It was Cala’s hesitancy that got to him. Maia could not, for a moment, work out what would cause his First Nohecharis to sound so nervous in voicing an opinion – and then it came back to him, a flood of little moments of dismissal or slightly too-sharp rebukes. He had been pushing them off for weeks. No wonder Cala was nervous of speaking up.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thou hast forgotten everything thy mother taught thee, arrogant hobgoblin. See how those around thee begin to fear thee?</em>
</p>
<p>Maia stood there for a long moment and let himself <em>feel</em>. His hands ached, the rings heavy on his fingers. His back and legs were sore from sitting all day, he was hungrier than he had realised, and the way his head felt light and his bones felt hollow – when had that become normal? <em>This is what it is to be emperor. </em>But he was distressing his nohecharei, and surely he was not meant to do that either…</p>
<p>
  <em>No, thou art meant to be competent. Then thou wouldst not be so overwrought by such a workload. Thy father handled this every day of his life for years.</em>
</p>
<p>Maia shook his head a little. That dry internal voice seemed to have grown crueller over the last few weeks, and harder to ignore. <em>I am not my father</em>, he thought, but it did not help. He glanced down, and closed his fists against the trembling of his hands. Berenar was at least right about one thing; he was not fit to dine with the court tonight. He would more likely fall over. And that felt awful, but there was nothing to be done but bear it and work to compensate for it tomorrow.</p>
<p>Carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes, he raised his head.</p>
<p>‘We will dine in the Alcethmeret tonight,’ he said. ‘Csevet, if you could see to any appropriate arrangements, we would appreciate it.’</p>
<p>Without waiting for a response, shame burning in the back of his throat, he left the room to be made ready for his newly solitary evening.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The dining room felt distinctly unfriendly, Cala thought, and then shook the thought off. He was letting Himself’s mood catch, and that did no good for anyone. He settled himself about four feet back from the emperor’s chair, standing against the wall; Beshelar took one of the seats to the side of the door. Cala could have joined him, but he had been sitting all afternoon and he had tired of it. Besides, were not nohecharei supposed to be unpredictable? <em>Ha.</em></p>
<p>He watched Isheian bring the starter, and Himself get through it with his usual neutrality. He hadn’t often seemed enthusiastic about food previously, Cala thought – only really when he came back from riding lessons, which did something to provoke an appetite – but these days it really seemed as though he wasn’t present. He could have been sat motionless staring at the wall, for all the interest he showed in the meal. But he finished it in an orderly manner, and thanked Isheian politely when she took it away and then again when she returned with the main course. Then he picked up the knife and fork – and lost his grip, somehow. Cala couldn’t quite see what had happened, but the knife clattered to the ground. Cala stepped forward first on instinct, and then continued out of helpfulness. He picked up the knife and put it back onto the table, to one side, and retrieved a spare from the discreet little cabinet in the corner. When he set it down carefully next to the plate, he had expected the usual quiet little thank you. He didn’t get it. Instead, a shudder seemed to run through Himself’s body; his hands, folded in his lap, didn’t move; and his breathing was odd, stuttering, uncertain.</p>
<p>‘Serenity?’ Cala said quietly, concerned, seeing Beshelar lean slightly forward in his chair. They had learned that Himself preferred not to be crowded, which was probably the only thing holding Beshelar back. And then another shudder, and Cala went to go to move around to see Himself better but stopped because Beshelar had left his seat. Within moments, the soldier was kneeling by the emperor’s chair, looking up at him.</p>
<p>‘Serenity?’ he said, more insistently than Cala had. ‘Serenity, please look at us. Here. Watch our hand.’ He held it up, at just above knee-height for Himself, and Cala watched in confusion as he began to open and close it in a slow rhythm.</p>
<p>‘Breathe out when it opens, in when it closes,’ Beshelar said, and if his tone was still formal it was also – almost brotherly, perhaps. Older brotherly. Cala moved around and saw that Himself had tears streaking down his cheeks; he was watching Beshelar’s hand, clearly struggling to do as he was asked but trying nonetheless.</p>
<p>‘We know what this is, Serenity,’ said Beshelar gently. ‘It will pass, it is hard, but it will pass, keep following the breathing.’ He glanced up at Cala, pointedly, but Cala was not sure what he had meant to indicate.</p>
<p>Clearly he looked confused, because Beshelar allowed the minutest look of annoyance to pass over his expression before staring pointedly at Himself’s left shoulder. <em>Oh. </em>Cala swallowed his surprise – the touch rules were important and Beshelar particularly, well, touchy, about them – and put his hand on the emperor’s shoulder. They stayed like that for several long minutes, the only sound in the room the emperor’s ragged breathing and Beshelar’s intermittent, quiet reassurance. Cala picked up on Isheian’s approach, and gave Himself’s shoulder a gentle squeeze of comfort before darting to the door and slipping out just in time to prevent Isheian from slipping in.</p>
<p>‘Wait here,’ he said softly to her, and she nodded. He returned to the dining room.</p>
<p>Himself’s breathing seemed steadier, less panicked; but the tears were still there and he had hunched forward into them, rocking gently as he sobbed. Cala had a moment’s indecision but reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder again.</p>
<p>‘Serenity,’ he murmured softly. The touch rules flicked through his mind, and the pages of the nohecharei records – where was the line, for this? The nohecharei were not responsible for the emperor’s feelings, but his well-being was their focus. What did rules about distance and form mean when the emperor of the Ethuveraz was a sobbing nineteen-year-old boy with no one else to turn to?</p>
<p>Cala swallowed, and then switched sides. He carefully moved a chair around, and then sat down so that he could reach an arm around Himself’s shoulders, and if Himself leaned into the comfort then… well, he had made the right decision. And damn anyone who thought otherwise.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The sharp little ting of the kitchen bell brought everyone to silence, and they turned. Isheian had rung it.</p>
<p>‘Meal change!’ she called as she crossed the kitchen with the plate. Ebremis turned on the spot, hands raised like a man ready to tackle something.</p>
<p>‘What to?’</p>
<p>‘Soup and soft bread.’</p>
<p>‘Any particular kind of soup?’</p>
<p>‘Didn’t say.’</p>
<p>‘Alright, onion it is.’ Ebremis started work immediately and the scullions all but danced out of the way – but he paused to peer at the plate Isheian was passing over to the sink.</p>
<p>‘He’s had none of that,’ he said. ‘An objection?’</p>
<p>Isheian shook her head.</p>
<p>‘He said to say it was lovely, though.’</p>
<p>Ebremis raised his eyebrows and went back to what he was doing. He was not the type to take offence, Coris knew, but Himself <em>never</em> sent back meals. Oh, there had been a few occasions of him skipping them or, more often, not finishing them, but not an outright sending back.</p>
<p>‘What happened, Ish? You were gone for a while,’ Coris said, looking over at her. She was stood at one end of the kitchen table, waiting patiently for instructions, and at his words she bit her lip.</p>
<p>‘I was going to the door and Cala stopped me outside and told me to wait so I stood there for almost a quarter hour. And then when I got called in, Deret and Cala were either side of Himself instead of by the door. And Himself… he looked like he’d been crying. I don’t think he’s feeling very well.’</p>
<p>The kitchen stilled, briefly, as everyone took this in. Coris and Kiru looked at one another, and Coris saw his own worry reflected in his partner’s expression. After a moment, Ebremis spoke up.</p>
<p>‘This may sound odd, but I can’t help but think this might actually be a good thing. In a way,’ he said.</p>
<p>‘The emperor bursting into tears at dinner?’ Avris said, his tone a mixture of distress and scepticism. Ebremis pulled a face as he worked on the soup.</p>
<p>‘I don’t mean that it’s good that he got to this point,’ he said. ‘I mean… he’s been holding back for weeks. He never wants to admit something’s wrong, never wants to talk to anyone about it. That sort of thing only lasts so long. Maybe now the tension is broken, he’ll be able to open up a little.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe,’ Nemer said quietly.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It was all Maia could do not to slump in his chair and let his head rest on the table. He felt hollow; when he lifted his hand, he could feel the tremble in it. When Isheian came in with the soup he managed to hold himself together well enough, but once she left he felt the tears begin again.</p>
<p>Cala’s hand on his shoulder was like an anchor, and he felt pathetic to value it so much. Such a small thing, and Cala was probably breaking some kind of rule to do it, a rule he should not have felt obliged to break because the Emperor of the Ethuveraz was not meant to be breaking down like a <em>damn child –</em></p>
<p>But he was. He was, and Beshelar and Cala had seen, had stayed with him through that horrible few minutes where a whole world’s worth of fear and panic had seemed to pour through him, they had <em>seen</em> –</p>
<p><em>They cannot tell anyone, and they are not permitted to judge thee</em>, he told himself, but it barely helped. Perhaps this was why one was not supposed to grow fond of staff and servants, he thought bitterly. So that it didn’t hurt so much to think their opinion of you might lower.</p>
<p>His breathing sped up again, and his heart lurched; and there, again, was Beshelar, dropping down to one knee beside him, looking up into his tear-streaked face with not a speck of disapproval in his expression.</p>
<p>‘Breath out, Serenity,’ he said quietly, making the open-close gesture with his hand again. Maia focused on it, followed the pattern until he felt himself settle again.</p>
<p>‘Serenity?’ Cala said cautiously. ‘Can you tell us what’s wrong?’</p>
<p>A thousand possibilities tumbled through Maia’s mind, none of them sayable, and perhaps if he had not been so <em>tired</em> he would have pulled himself together and brushed them both off. But as it was, he slipped, and the words that came out felt as though they were carved into his ribs.</p>
<p>‘I can’t do this.’</p>
<p>‘Serenity,’ Beshelar said softly, and something broke inside of Maia.</p>
<p>‘I can’t – it wasn’t supposed to be me, it was <em>never supposed to be me</em>, and it’s too much and <em>I can’t do this –</em>’ Too late, he managed to stop the words coming out in a choking flood, turning them into shaking gasps as he did so. Cala’s hand on his shoulder squeezed again, gently, and he tried to calm down, but that was it, wasn’t it? It had never been meant for him, none of this had, and that was why he was falling apart, crumbling to powder under a weight he was never meant to bear – <em>a weight thou hast never deserved, never earnt, and art thou really so surprised? Thinkest thou any of those around thee will be surprised? They see thee, hobgoblin, they see thee and they know –</em></p>
<p>‘Serenity? Serenity, please look at us.’</p>
<p>Maia turned his head again, though he did not want to. Beshelar had not moved, and was watching Maia with a very unfamiliar expression.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, may we tell you about something? It might – it might help,’ Beshelar said. Maia swallowed, then he nodded. <em>It won’t. But thou certainly owest them something, for all the snipes and poor behaviour they have tolerated from thee of late.</em></p>
<p>‘When we are training, in the guard,’ Beshelar said, ‘one of the tasks we are set is to take care of an old soldier. Someone who has been through many years of service, and is… they call it battle-worn. ‘Tis like an illness – nightmares, and flinches, instincts that kept them alive on the field turning against them in peacetime.’ He paused, seemed to organise his thoughts before continuing. ‘Partly we did this because it needed doing; partly to teach us of the risks of our profession, to make sure we understood what we in turn would be risking. But also, partly, to teach us than pain and fear are not to be ashamed of, or mocked.’</p>
<p>Maia blinked. He had expected… he had expected something about strength, about maintaining a formidable exterior, about overcoming the urge to cry until you – until you no longer –</p>
<p>
  <em>No shame in tears, michen-Maia. Tears are truthful, and they mean that thou carest. And thou must care, Maia.</em>
</p>
<p>His mother’s voice, with its soft Barizhin accent leaning into every vowel. When had he stopped listening to her?</p>
<p>Beshelar was still watching him, and Maia jerked his attention back and nodded that he should continue.</p>
<p>‘We are not a courtier, Serenity, nor a politician; we make no claim to have such knowledge. But we are with you for half your days; and we see how hard you work. It is not that you are weak, it is that your burden is heavy. And perhaps, if you would allow someone – the zhasan, perhaps, or Arbelan Zhasanai, or the Archduchess or Lord Berenar or even us – to see what you are struggling with, that burden could be made lighter.’</p>
<p>‘Emperors have almost always managed,’ Cala put in, his voice gentle. ‘So it must be doable.’</p>
<p>‘Not by everyone,’ Maia said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Not by me.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘I can’t do this.’ He felt half-drowned in exhaustion and anger and fear. <em>And shame. What art thou ashamed of? What value has it? Shouldst thou listen to it, when it sounds so very like thy cousin?</em></p>
<p>Beshelar’s forehead creased slightly.</p>
<p>‘Perhaps,’ he said quietly. ‘But, Serenity, do you recall when Telimezh offered his resignation? After the attempted coup?’</p>
<p>‘We recall,’ Maia said, trying to work out where Beshelar was going with this.</p>
<p>‘You told him it was his decision, but that you would be remiss if you accepted any decision he made that day.’</p>
<p>Maia nodded.</p>
<p>‘We know you are in pain; and that things are difficult, perhaps they feel impossible. We don’t… we do not wish you to feel that we do not believe you. But, Serenity, we do not believe you have <em>always</em> felt thus. Might things not change, again, with time and care?’</p>
<p>The flood that Maia had been drowning in was draining away, and he was not quite sure what was left in its wake. Perhaps only him, alone.</p>
<p>Perhaps Beshelar was right. He was lost. Perhaps the only thing to do for now was sleep – perhaps – perhaps –</p>
<p>His wandering attention, reaching near-desperately for something to latch onto that didn’t hurt, had him look up suddenly.</p>
<p>‘Oh, the soup,’ he said softly, distressed. Bad enough that he had made Ebremis do twice the work when the first meal had gone cold, now he had forgotten the second –</p>
<p>‘It is still warm, Serenity,’ said Cala, a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘And we believe it can be reheated, if need be.’</p>
<p>Maia nodded, relieved.</p>
<p>‘We are – we are sure it will be fine,’ he managed, and saw the slightest twitch of Beshelar’s ears at his steadier voice.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, we know you must tire of hearing this,’ Beshelar said, and the determination in his voice nearly brought Maia’s tears out again, ‘but we think you should rest. Not just tonight, but tomorrow as the Lord Chancellor recommended.’</p>
<p>A moment’s pause, where Maia very nearly leaned on the habit of the last few weeks and refused; but he thought of his mother, and of the worried expression of Lord Berenar, and of the little looks Csethiro had been giving him in quiet moments, and he gave in.</p>
<p>‘Very well,’ he said softly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Despite Oneself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belsomivar VI, the 156<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>The last of the ‘Bel’ emperors and the father of Edrevenivar the Conqueror (see following entry), Belsomivar is often passed by unremarked by historians and scholars. It is true that his reign held little of the dramas and dangers that draw interest to other emperors, but this lack of surface-level glamour obscures the relevance Belsomivar’s reign has to the modern-day Ethuveraz.</p><p>Belsomivar VI was deeply preoccupied with the function of Parliament, and his writings on its purpose and regulation were key to the establishment of the House of Commons by his grandson, amidst considerable controversy. He also introduced many laws around the silk trade that still strengthen it today.</p><p>While his quiet manipulation of relationships with nobles in the Western Ethuveraz was a part of what enabled his son’s unification, he was noted for having a horror of warfare and opposing violence as a solution.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>Maia woke the next morning feeling utterly lost.</p><p>Habit drove him out of bed and allowed him to nod when Telimezh asked if he should summon the edocharei. He needed to dress, he supposed, but when the edocharei enquired as to what he wished to wear that day he just looked at them blankly.</p><p>‘We do not believe we will be leaving the Alcethmeret,’ he said after the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length. It seemed to be enough, for the three of them helped him into a relatively modest outfit and did not protest when he forbore to wear any jewellery. Or, at least, did not protest aloud. He kept his eyes averted so as not to see their expressions; he did not think he could stand to see any pity today.</p><p>Then he walked down the stairs to the dining room and ate breakfast, trying not to think about his breakdown in that very same chair the night before. Kiru and Telimezh were on duty now, but he was certain that Cala and Beshelar would have kept them updated. The thought was not cheering.</p><p>When he was finished, he rose from his seat and then stopped.</p><p>
  <em>What now?</em>
</p><p>No paperwork. No correspondence. No meetings. Everything had been suspended. So what happened instead?</p><p>He stood there at the head of the table, trying to work it out.</p><p>‘Serenity?’ Telimezh asked. ‘Are you well?’</p><p><em>How tired I am of that question</em>, Maia thought. Out loud, he said:</p><p>‘What… do we do?’</p><p>Telimezh frowned slightly in confusion.</p><p>‘Serenity?’</p><p>Maia gestured vaguely.</p><p>‘We have no… no duties. No tasks. What do we do?’</p><p>He was not truly expecting Telimezh to have an answer, but the lieutenant did the best he could.</p><p>‘Your Serenity may do as you please, of course,’ he said slowly, and then brightened a little. ‘What did Your Serenity do for leisure before you lived at court?’</p><p>Maia supposed that was a fair question, even though the answer was ultimately unhelpful.</p><p>‘Very little,’ he said quietly. ‘There wasn’t anything to do. Relegation is… mostly dullness. If we were not at lessons we would be wandering the grounds with our thoughts, or sitting in the house somewhere with our thoughts.’ That wasn’t <em>quite </em>everything he had done to occupy himself growing up, he supposed, but tree-climbing was almost certainly not emperor-appropriate.</p><p>Telimezh, blessedly, managed not to look shocked at the idea that his emperor did not know how to spend his own free time. Instead, he nodded gravely.</p><p>‘How about a book, Serenity?’ he suggested. ‘You have not had opportunity to peruse the Alcethmeret library since you arrived.’</p><p>
  <em>Ignorant hobgoblin.</em>
</p><p>Maia took a breath; remembered the rhythm of Beshelar’s hand, opening and closing; then breathed out, and gave Telimezh a nod.</p><p>‘Very well; would you please show us the way?’</p><p>~</p><p>Cala and Beshelar had changed shifts with the Seconds in the early hours of the morning and gone straight to bed. Upon rising, they fell into conversation about the emperor as though no time had been missed.</p><p>‘We should have helped him earlier,’ Cala said the moment he entered the shared space, leaving his bedroom door half-open behind him.</p><p>‘But we didn’t,’ Deret answered grimly, ‘and we will need to improve.’</p><p>‘He didn’t <em>want </em>us to help him,’ Cala countered, perfectly willing to be contrary and absolutely not in the mood to have Deret <em>agree </em>with him.</p><p>Deret said nothing.</p><p>‘I don’t know how’s best to strike a balance here,’ Cala said, throwing himself down on the nearest armchair, his legs over the arms in the way that he knew Deret disapproved of. ‘He’s the <em>emperor.</em> He’s allowed to make his own decisions. And I will be the first one to say they’re usually good decisions, if sometimes unconventional.’ He considered this, and then corrected himself. ‘They’re often best when they <em>are</em> unconventional. But there are certain things on which he has blind spots, and they damn well worry me.’</p><p>This at least provoked a noise of agreement from Deret, who had walked over to stand by the fire and was warming his hands. Cala sighed in frustration.</p><p>‘At least he’s taking the day.’</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>The conversation reignited when they ate their breakfast in the Alcethmeret kitchen, expanding out to include Ebremis, Esaran, Csevet, and the edocharei.</p><p>‘It’s hard to give him what he needs when no one – including him himself – has any idea what that is,’ Avris said. Ebremis, across the kitchen, made a dismissive noise.</p><p>‘He’s nineteen years old and on the throne, what he <em>needs</em> is a <em>parent</em>,’ he said. ‘Someone older than he is that he can ask for advice from. Someone to talk to. Someone he doesn’t rule. And he can’t have that.’</p><p>That merited an uncomfortable silence. After a minute or so, Cala lifted his head up from his folded arms and stared across the kitchen.</p><p>‘Someone to talk to,’ he said.</p><p>Deret raised his eyebrows, and Cala drummed his fingers on the table.</p><p>‘Back before the wedding – Himself spoke to the Archprelate. The Archprelate said he’d look into sending a chaplain, one hasn’t turned up. Think that would help?’</p><p>Deret sat back.</p><p>‘You might be on to something there,’ he said, frowning. ‘Either way it’s worth trying. Csevet?’</p><p>Csevet was already nodding and reaching for pen and ink.</p><p>‘Was it confirmed, that one had been requested by the emperor?’ he asked, and Cala shrugged.</p><p>‘Verbal confirmation,’ he said. ‘But there wasn’t anything vague about it.’</p><p>Csevet gave a small smile.</p><p>‘I should be able to send a polite chaser,’ he said. ‘It’s a good idea.’</p><p>‘It’s the only one we have at the moment,’ Cala sighed. ‘I hate seeing him like this.’</p><p>‘Don’t we all.’</p><p>~</p><p>It was early afternoon, and the sun was warm in the Alcethmeret gardens. Despite the nagging in his stomach and the sharp little voice in his head, Maia had spent the morning looking through the books in the library. It had felt hollow at the start, as though he was play-acting some kind of appropriate behaviour in order to reassure the people around him. But gradually the titles drew him in, and while he never relaxed entirely it was… something of a balm. And it had passed the time, at least. He took his lunch in the garden, more out of an urge to avoid the dining room and its uncomfortable memories of the night before than anything else. But the sun was kind, and the air was soft, and the stone bench was well cushioned. <em>Thou hast nought to complain of</em>, he reminded himself sternly.<em> Take thy blessings.</em></p><p>The book he had chosen was on creatures of the Chadevan Sea, and he had chosen it because of all those in reach when it had come time for lunch, it was the least relevant to his own life. The illustrations, at least, were interesting. Resting. He was supposed to be resting. Was this resting?</p><p>~</p><p>Feeling vaguely as though he was doing something wrong, even though he knew that he was not, Deret descended from the tower and did a cursory loop of the Lower Alcethmeret before heading out to the gardens. He would not <em>interrupt </em>His Serenity, he told himself; ideally, Edrehasivar wouldn’t even notice him. And he trusted Kiru and Coris with the emperor’s safety, he had no hesitation about that. That wasn’t it. But it was his duty to do the occasional spot-check, and if that allowed him to see Edrehasivar taking ease with his own two eyes, just to be sure, then that was simply an additional benefit.</p><p>When he entered the gardens, he was startled when the door pulled itself out of his hands and closed silently. He looked around – and saw Kiru, giving him a wry smile, and lowering her hands from a spellworking form. She nodded to the bench beside her, and Deret walked on the grass to move more quietly towards it. As he did, Coris came into view, a little distance away, where he could best see the other approaches to His Serenity – who was lying on the cushioned bench, a book closed on the fingers of one hand, and sound asleep.</p><p>Deret smiled.</p><p>‘How long?’ he mouthed at Kiru, who tipped a hand from side to side.</p><p>‘Half an hour or so,’ she mouthed back, and he nodded. Himself had been waking frequently in the night over the last few weeks; small wonder he felt the need to sleep now. Satisfied that all was well, Deret headed off through the garden.</p><p>Kiru’s presence, though it had chafed with Deret at first, had turned into a blessing. His outburst in front of the emperor had been inappropriate, and he had apologised to Kiru later. Since then, he had been making an effort to ensure he did not repeat his mistake.</p><p>He had thought of the maza-nohecharis position as though it was the same as the soldier-nohecharis – and, by extension, assumed that the Mazan’theileian was subject to the same rules and limitations as the Untheileneise Guard. More or less, at least. He had known there were female maza, of course, but had not thought them common; and he supposed that if he had thought of it at all, he had assumed they would have their own specialisations, separate from those of the men.</p><p>After Kiru’s arrival he had asked Cala about it, and been startled to discover that the Athmaz’are made no distinction at all between the genders, as it had no bearing on maz-ability. Cala had explained that age and experience mattered with maz, and that Kiru’s seniority to him meant that she was actually considerably more capable than he was.</p><p>‘She could wipe the floor with me, Deret, don’t worry. There’s only one dachenmaza older than her, Ostara, and he’s in his seventies and spends most of his time working on his poetry.’</p><p>Since his awkward apology and her confirmation that she had forgiven him, Deret had sought out opportunities to speak to Kiru, usually on the slow change. The slow change was when a shift change occurred while the emperor was asleep, allowing the nohecharei to cluster outside the door in changing groups of two and three, or even linger for longer conversation. These had been educational, in more ways than one. It had been decided that Deret would be the one of the First Nohecharei pair to work on his medical knowledge, in case of an emergency. Kiru had pointed him to some resources, and had been happy to talk through what he was learning when they had the chance. She also seemed to delight in prodding at his assumptions, which he disliked but felt obscurely was somehow good for him. Like a kind of medicine, bitter but beneficial. Such as their discussion a week ago.</p><p>‘I did conclude after some consideration that there is no reason not to expect there to be areas in which women equal or excel over men, and maz seems to be one of them,’ Deret said slowly. ‘But it isn’t without limits; for example, of course one could never have an all-female nohecharei set, as the soldiers would always be men.’</p><p>Kiru’s expression changed to something Deret was beginning to cautiously identify as ‘mischievous’.</p><p>‘Why could we not have women soldiers?’ she asked.</p><p>Deret took a breath, swallowing down his instinctive reaction. He understood Kiru’s purpose by now, which was that one should not make assumptions that one could not ground in reason. If he found a good enough argument, she would allow him to win the point.</p><p>‘Physical strength,’ he said after some time. ‘The strength and endurance required by the training – it would be out of reach for women. Though I will allow that perhaps women could occupy roles as strategists; then again, it is difficult to see soldiers trusting strategy coming from someone who has not trained with them.’</p><p>Kiru gave a slow, thoughtful nod.</p><p>‘A reasonable point, and I appreciate that thou hast given it some thought. A question though; thou grew up on a farm, didst thou not?’</p><p>‘I did,’ Deret said, surprised.</p><p>‘Hard work, farm work.’</p><p>‘Tis true.’</p><p>‘Lot of lifting, carrying, pushing.’</p><p>‘Yes.’</p><p>‘Many tasks thou wouldst not have been able to do until thou wert grown.’</p><p>‘Yes?’</p><p>‘Were there any tasks thy father could do that thy mother could not?’</p><p>‘No, of course not – ah.’ Deret frowned. ‘I see thy point, I suppose.’ And he did; a great deal of farming women worked as hard as the men, in terms of both strength and stamina. He turned the thought around in his head, feeling where it grated against his training and his expectations, knowing that Kiru was watching him with interest.</p><p>That conversation had lasted the better part of an hour, half the end of Kiru’s shift and half the beginning of his own, and he had been chewing on it since. The subject was beside the point – regardless of his opinion, women’s presence in the Untheileneise Guard was not a question likely to be raised in his lifetime – but it was the mechanism that interested him, the way that his perspective and his understanding could be turned over and expanded. Soldiers were not stupid; they were trained to take orders, yes, but also to understand them and respond intelligently. Deret had always been expected to think. But Kiru and Cala took it to an entirely different level, unfolding everything with challenge after challenge, and somehow that became a strength even as it made everything that much more complex.</p><p>Perhaps that was what Edrehasivar needed now – a way of shifting how he understood his role. Many things were done as they had been done in his father’s reign; but Edrehasivar was not Varenechibel.</p><p>Deret did not know how to do that, but he knew who would. Exiting the gardens at the far end, he looped back around the Lower Alcethmeret and headed back upstairs.</p><p>~</p><p>Maia dozed in the gardens, half aware of the sunlight and the book in his hand, but slowly slipping deeper into sleep. It had been so long since sleep had felt this easy – perhaps it was a waste of his free day, but no one was stopping him, and everything was warm and calm…</p><p>Maia opened his eyes.</p><p>The tower bedchamber was full of light, streaming in from the open window, so bright that the view was obscured. He sat up.</p><p>The room was empty. No nohecharei, no edocharei. Normally, that would have been frightening – but it was not. He felt like he had in the vigil chapel before the coronation. He was alone, but he was safe. He was exactly where he should be, and so was everyone else. He sat very still for a few minutes, just breathing in the peace and feeling the sunlight on his skin.</p><p>Something pulled at him, like a little tug inside his chest. There was something to see. He rose from the bed and walked over to the door, which was half open. He stepped onto the landing, and took the stairs.</p><p>As the stairs curved away from him, he could see the water.</p><p>It was as though someone had filled the tower like a jug, he thought, and kept walking down.</p><p>When he passed into the water, it was the same temperature as the air, and soft as silk. Breathing didn’t seem to be a problem, and he didn’t need to swim – only walk further down, through the clear blue, into the Lower Alcethmeret and then out into the corridors of the court.</p><p>As he passed through the great bronze gates of the Lower Alcethmeret, a shoal of fish swam past. Delighted, he reached up, and brushed a finger against the silvery scales. It didn’t disturb them. He couldn’t disturb anything here, he knew. There was nothing he could damage or destroy, nothing he could ruin or break or mar.</p><p>He walked on.</p><p>The corridors were quiet, but not still. Single fish and shoals and, when he peered in the half-open doors to the Untheileian, a steadily moving shark. Light, too, was in motion, pouring through the windows and rippling in the water, bright and clean.</p><p>Maia walked further. The court was underwater; not deep enough for it to be forsaken by the sun, but deep enough that ships could pass overhead with no thought to what lay beneath them. Sure enough, when he found a window and looked out and up, the shadow of a hull was visible. He watched it move along the surface of the water, wondering what the people on board knew of their history. It did not matter, really. There was so much history, and in all of that depth he was merely a footnote, one name on a list of thousands, and that… that was right, somehow. <em>This is what it means to be at peace.</em></p><p>He could have walked for hours.</p><p>Eventually, he found that his feet were leading him back to the Alcethmeret. He climbed the stairs, trailing his fingers along the marble wall, feeling the water against his skin. The surface of the water was high above the tower as he slipped back into the bedroom, climbed back into bed, and closed his eyes.</p><p>When he woke in the garden, the air had cooled, and there were tears on his cheeks. But something inside him seemed soothed. Perhaps that was enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Forest from the Trees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edretanthiar I, the 169<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Preceded by a string of highly traditional, highly conservative emperors, Edretanthiar I was considered by many to be a breath of fresh air. He approached every aspect of his role as emperor with an analytical mind, and pursued efficiency in all areas of government. While his willingness to incorporate new ideas was lauded by many, he did not enjoy universal popularity, with others of the court objecting either to changes to their familiar processes or to what they saw as efficiency to a damaging excess.</p><p>His successes in this enterprise allowed his successors to pursue their goals with fewer restrictions, but also permitted government to act more swiftly in cases of emergency. A great deal of governmental infrastructure has grown more complicated since his era, but many agree that his acts ‘cleared the floor’ for improvements that benefit the current Ethuveraz.</p><p>He was succeeded by his nephew, whom he adopted as a son after his own son died of a wasting illness.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>Csevet had arranged for the Lord Chancellor to arrive at ten, the morning after Maia’s day off. Maia had been surprised to be seeing Berenar again so quickly; Csevet explained that the Lord Chancellor had requested the meeting.</p><p>‘Rather cautiously, it must be said,’ Csevet said. ‘He may be concerned that he distressed you at your last meeting.’</p><p>Maia shifted uncomfortably, and then frowned.</p><p>‘Berenar has never struck us as someone unwilling to… challenge those above him when he thinks necessary,’ he said slowly. Csevet tilted his ears slightly in concession to this.</p><p>‘We believe Your Serenity to be correct in that assessment,’ he said. ‘But while we do not believe he fears your temper, he is a considerate man. He may have been concerned that his tactics were less than… entirely tactful.’</p><p>Csevet’s tone was, as always, impeccably neutral. Maia wondered briefly what he thought of the whole matter, and then decided that he did not want to know. He felt a little better this morning, in the way one feels clearer and cleaner after tears. The problem had not, in itself, been solved – but it felt as though there might, if he thought carefully, be a way to get a handle on it.</p><p>Berenar arrived precisely on time, and nothing in his manner showed that anything was out of the ordinary. Maia gestured for him to take a seat, and tried to imitate the same neutrality.</p><p>‘Lord Berenar,’ he said. ‘What was it that you wished to discuss with us?’</p><p>Something in Berenar’s expression changed, and Maia thought he could see hope in it. Was that in response to his tone? Was he behaving so differently from two days ago?</p><p>If he was, Berenar made no comment on it, but got straight to the heart of the matter.</p><p>‘Serenity, we wished to discuss potential adjustments to the imperial workload,’ he said, with only a brief hesitation. ‘There are many ways for an emperor to work, and it occurs to us that with the difficulties with our predecessor, some of the work around, for example, administrative transition may have been missed.’</p><p>~</p><p>Csevet felt as though the ground beneath him, never solid to begin with, had finally begun to truly crumble. <em>Well, it lasted longer than thou didst expect. And His Serenity is kind enough to see thee off with a good reference; perhaps wilt be able to start as a junior secretary somewhere, and work thy way up more traditionally?</em> The thought was optimistic, but it held no real conviction. This position had been a daydream come to life; it seemed impossible that he would be permitted another.</p><p>The emperor was frowning.</p><p>‘It would not surprise us,’ he said quietly. ‘Lord Chavar was somewhat obstructive; we have not asked Mer Aisava directly, but we suspected his work was made more difficult by Chavar’s opinion of us.’</p><p>Berenar made a noise of agreement.</p><p>‘That leads us to a related point,’ he said, and Csevet braced himself as the Lord Chancellor turned to him. ‘We understand, Mer Aisava, that you were not part of Varenechibel’s secretarial team?’</p><p>Csevet forced himself not to lick his dry lips in nervousness.</p><p>‘No, Lord Berenar,’ he said quietly, and waited for the inevitable following question.</p><p>‘Mm. May we ask what your previous position was?’</p><p>Csevet couldn’t help it; he felt himself flick his eyes over to the emperor for a brief moment, but could read nothing in his expression.</p><p>‘We were a courier, Lord Chancellor,’ he said. <em>And here it ends. Thou wert never a suitable person for this position, but Edrehasivar minded not. His Lord Chancellor, however, </em>will<em> object. How could he not?</em></p><p>Berenar had blinked, surprised, at Csevet’s answer. Now he sat back in his chair, looking contemplative. Though he needed to say nothing more until spoken to, Csevet gave in to the urge to at least begin to explain.</p><p>‘We initially stepped in in a temporary capacity, given the lack of existing secretarial staff,’ he said, his heart thudding in his chest. ‘And then His Serenity elected to keep us on…’</p><p>Berenar was nodding as Csevet trailed off.</p><p>‘And he was quite right to do so, Mer Aisava,’ he said. ‘Your work is exemplary. And all the more impressive given your lack of traditional training. But it does explain one or two areas which we think might merit a little additional support.’</p><p>‘Such as, Lord Berenar?’ His Serenity asked. Csevet was glad that the emperor had spoken and saved him from having to; his mind was a whirlwind. <em>Exemplary? But His Serenity is overworked, and surely if I were competent…</em></p><p>Berenar opened his hands as though he had several options to choose from.</p><p>‘Well, for example – your current secretarial team is five strong, yes?’ he asked.</p><p>‘Yes, including Mer Aisava.’</p><p>‘Mm. Varenechibel’s was nine.’</p><p>Csevet, still mid-whirlwind, froze abruptly.</p><p>
  <em>Nine?</em>
</p><p>‘During our research in the chancellery records,’ Berenar continued, oblivious to Csevet’s shock, ‘we saw that all of the previous undersecretaries left their positions immediately after the airship crash; six of them seem to have been offered lucrative positions in the chancellery. Mer Aisava, if we may: where did the current undersecretaries come from? There is no record of the chancellery recommending staff, as would be standard procedure, though we did find that the request for recommendations had been received.’</p><p>Csevet frantically pulled his thoughts into order, and then held back a wince.</p><p>‘Lord Chavar’s chancellery, while not incompetent, was somewhat… obstructive,’ he said. He had no obligation to be respectful towards Berenar’s predecessor, he knew, but there was such a thing as class. ‘Particularly, requests were often delayed or misconstrued. But the need for a secretarial team was somewhat urgent.’</p><p>Berenar nodded, and Csevet knew that His Serenity was also watching with interest. He took a breath, and continued.</p><p>‘In that light, we sought recommendations from other bodies at court,’ he explained. ‘Of the current four undersecretaries, two are from the parliamentary administration, one from the Judiciate, and one from the treasury. We were very thorough with their references. But after four we struggled to find any more, and truthfully we were uncertain how many there were meant to be.’ He said the last part with as little audible embarrassment as possible, though it was difficult.</p><p>Berenar nodded again.</p><p>‘If the quality of work coming through to the chancellery is anything to go by, you made excellent choices,’ he said, and Csevet felt his heart ease a little.</p><p>‘Thank you, Lord Chancellor,’ he said.</p><p>‘However, perhaps it would help if we raised their number back to the previous levels?’ Berenar turned back to His Serenity. ‘Serenity, we can recommend some staff for Mer Aisava and yourself to select from within the week, and that might help to ease your workload.’</p><p>‘We would be very grateful, Lord Berenar,’ His Serenity said.</p><p>Berenar continued to engage His Serenity on the subject of managing a secretarial team and the potential efficiencies thereof. Csevet made careful notes, resisting at every moment the urge to put his head down on the desk in shock and relief.</p><p>
  <em>Exemplary?</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>Maia felt somewhat as though he was balancing something precariously on the top of his head. He still felt better than he had done, and he was holding tightly onto the calm of the day before. But it took so much effort to concentrate on Berenar’s suggestions, to listen to the breadth of his Lord Chancellor’s knowledge and not preoccupy himself with his own inadequacies.</p><p>
  <em>Thou shouldst know this. An emperor should know all of this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I did not, and now I am learning. </em>
</p><p>Keeping himself level was a struggle, but he was making progress, and he tried to focus on that.</p><p>‘We thank you for your suggestions, Lord Berenar, we believe they will be most helpful,’ he said when Berenar looked to have run out of words. Berenar smiled.</p><p>‘We are glad,’ he said earnestly, and Maia smiled back.</p><p>‘Was there anything else you wished to recommend?’ Maia said. ‘We are… we intend to not have yesterday’s incident happen again.’</p><p>Berenar looked sympathetic, and Maia’s eyes slid away from him in his discomfort. Despite this, they talked for another half an hour, with Berenar prompting Maia to consider possibilities even ‘if it seems as though they may not be reasonable – Your Serenity is yet only partially familiar with court, and many things are more flexible than they appear.’</p><p>They talked about rearranging the Corazhas time and public audience (to both be held in the mornings now, as that was when Maia admitted he felt the most alert); about strict designations of days for different matters, of finding a tutor for the emperor so that he could start to improve his education in a more orderly fashion instead of the piecemeal way he had been managing it; of attending court dinner but not necessarily the endless socialising afterwards.</p><p>‘An emperor should mingle with his court,’ Berenar said, ‘but there is no rule that says it must happen late at night, if he tires of it. If Your Serenity would be willing to host more often, perhaps smaller and more frequent gatherings would be better? Luncheons or even breakfasts, afternoon gatherings where possible… perhaps, once you feel more confident in your horsemanship, riding into the surrounding countryside with some of the more energetic courtiers?’</p><p>Csevet, who had gone very quiet during the discussion of the undersecretaries, was soon back to his usual form, adding suggestions and making copious notes. Towards the end of the meeting, he was sent briefly to retrieve some example of Chavar’s chancellery responses for Berenar. The moment he left the room, Berenar looked Maia in the eye.</p><p>‘We hope you know how valuable that young man is, Serenity,’ he said, and Maia nodded.</p><p>‘Mer Aisava has been a boon,’ he said quietly, feeling perhaps a little warmer than the topic merited. But then, it was true, was it not? Csevet had been a lynchpin in his success as an emperor, limited though it was. He was very grateful, and it was appropriate that he should feel strongly about it.</p><p>‘Quite,’ said Lord Berenar. ‘And if it is not too presumptuous of us, Serenity, we would suggest taking a look at how much Mer Aisava is paid. We suspect he was rather modest on the subject initially – the treasury has him at a much lower rate than his predecessor, which does not seem merited.’</p><p>Maia raised his eyebrows, drawing on his last reserves to conceal his distress. <em>Didst thou never think to check? Lazy, self-centred –</em></p><p>He spoke over the vicious little voice in his head, drowning it out as best he could.</p><p>‘We had no idea, Lord Berenar – and we thank you, for we shall amend that immediately.’</p><p>~</p><p>Evidently it had been decided that the emperor’s first day after his day off was to be a comparatively restful one, for Maia had nothing more than correspondence to respond to and reports to read until lunch; by that point, he felt well enough that when Isheian asked timidly if His Serenity would be dining alone this evening or with the court, he made a bolder decision.</p><p>‘We would dine here tonight,’ he said carefully, ‘but we will invite the Zhasan, Prince Idra… and our sister and Arbelan Zhasanai, an they are available. Would you convey that to Dachensol Ebremis, please?’</p><p>‘Of course, Serenity.’</p><p>Having made the suggestion meant that he now of course had to follow through with it; he wrote out four invitations just after lunch, with apologies for the short-notice, and passed them to Csevet to be delivered. By that point it was almost time for the day’s second and (thankfully) final meeting, and one that he was more than a little uncertain of: Merrem Esaran had requested a formal household meeting.</p><p>This was a rare occurrence, Csevet explained, but considered necessary and useful in some situations. Maia did not have the nerve to ask exactly what those situations were, though he suspected <em>the master of the house breaks down and behaves like a child</em> might be one of them.</p><p>The meeting took place in the Tortoise Room, and Maia wondered with a degree of tension if Esaran still felt the room beneath the emperor’s dignity. He did not see his house steward often, and did not have the impression that her opinion had improved at all since their first encounter.</p><p>A formal household meeting turned out to involve all four nohecharei, who were on the cusp of their shift change; the three edocharei, standing politely along one wall; Mer Aisava, taking notes at the secretary’s desk in the corner; and Merrem Esaran and Dachensol Ebremis, who were the only ones to take a seat when Maia indicated that they should. The fact that the others remained standing and Esaran and Ebremis sat only reluctantly was probably meant to be a show of respect; Maia thought glumly that it just meant he was sat down in a room full of standing people with an urge to not force them to stand around any longer than necessary. Hopefully the meeting would not be lengthy.</p><p>Several minutes in, it was clear that the lengthiest parts of this meeting would be the silences.</p><p>Esaran asked if His Serenity was content with the current household arrangements, and if there was anything that could be adjusted to improve them; Maia thanked her, and said that everything was perfectly fine. Ebremis then asked if everything was satisfactory with the emperor’s meals; Maia thanked him and said that it was, very much so. Then the edocharei, and the nohecharei. Between each one, longer each time, stretched an uncomfortable silence. Maia did not know what he was supposed to say, and he was growing progressively more anxious with each one. Why would there be anything wrong with the household? This was the Upper Alcethmeret, the highest echelon of the staff at court; every single person in this room was more highly trained in their role than Maia could dream of being in his; why would their assumption be that there was something that <em>they </em>needed to fix?</p><p><em>Because it is not permitted for them to suggest that thou art where the problem lies,</em> he thought to himself in the next long silence. <em>Thus we have this play-acting at fault, when the only person who needst improve is the emperor at the centre. </em></p><p>The peace of the day before seemed to have dissipated, slipped through his fingers in his distraction; now he sat, uncomfortable and tense, the feelings of failure building as each awkward moment passed.  </p><p>Eventually, Esaran seemed resigned to the fact that nothing useful was occurring. Maia read the concession in her body language, and held back the urge to apologise.</p><p>Unexpectedly, Telimezh stepped forward in the quiet.</p><p>‘Serenity, may we say something?’ he asked.</p><p>‘Go ahead, Lieutenant,’ Maia said, perhaps a little more warily than Telimezh deserved. It had been a quiet day by imperial standards, but he already wanted to give up on it and crawl back into bed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have invited Csethiro and the others for dinner after all…</p><p>‘Thank you, Serenity.’ Telimezh shifted his weight, uncomfortable. ‘Serenity, this is perhaps something most relevant to the nohecharei and the edocharei, and less so to the others. But we know that Your Serenity was raised in a very different environment to court, and that perhaps there is something that should be clarified.’</p><p>He glanced at Esha and then back at Maia, and Maia saw Kiru’s ears twitch in interest. <em>This is something he and Esha have spoken about, but he has not mentioned to his partner</em>, Maia thought, torn between resentment and curiosity.</p><p>‘Yes?’ he said.</p><p>‘Your Serenity seems… forgive our presumption, but Your Serenity seems reluctant to… take ease,’ Telimezh said hesitantly. ‘You are – you show every member of the household a great deal of respect, and we are honoured by it, but…’ he trailed off, looking pained, and glanced at Esha again.</p><p>Esha took a half step forward, and Maia gestured that he could speak.</p><p>‘Your Serenity is always the emperor,’ he said, ‘but there is a difference between how one must behave in the view of court and how one may behave in one’s own home. We wish you to know that if you would feel more comfortable being more informal in private, that would not – that would not be wrong. We wish you to be comfortable around us; we should not discomfort you in your own home.’</p><p>From the expressions on the faces of the others, Maia judged that many of them agreed with this sentiment. Then he saw their expressions change, and realised that he was shaking his head instinctively.</p><p>‘Serenity?’ Telimezh said worriedly. ‘We are sorry, we only meant to help –’</p><p>‘We are aware of that,’ Maia said, his tone sharper than it should have been, his eyes on the wall above the fireplace so that he did not have to watch anyone flinch. But the drowning feeling had returned to him again, and this time it carried anger and hurt on the lip of the wave.</p><p>Kiru stepped forward.</p><p>‘Lieutenant Telimezh and Esha are correct,’ she said gently. ‘You must be able to be yourself around us, or you cannot be yourself at all.’ She seemed about to continue, but Maia cut her off with a gesture, standing abruptly. Suddenly unable to keep still, he paced across the room.</p><p>‘No,’ he said, his mind filling with an angry buzz, ‘no, that is not – that is <em>not</em> reasonable, that is not – that is <em>not fair </em>of you to ask of us –’ he sounded like a child, he knew, but there was nothing to be done about it now ‘– all of you, <em>all of you</em>, ever since we arrived, all you have done is press us to be more proper, to be more imperial; the shocked faces every time I cross a line so as to nudge me back over it –’ Maia turned away from them, staring blindly out of the window, his breathing shallow and fast. ‘And I have no – <em>we</em> – we have no complaint, it is your job and we <em>needed that</em>, we had to learn, we needed those nudges in private to prevent us from slipping up in public because we hardly knew what we were doing – but you <em>can’t.</em>’ He turned back, his left forearm gripped in his right in the habit he thought Setheris had broken him of. ‘You cannot spend <em>nine months</em> pushing me – pushing <em>us</em> – to be as imperial as possible every moment of the day and then turn around and say we must do the opposite, we –’</p><p>He swallowed. He was unable to force himself to look at any of their faces, but he could see that Nemer had put a hand over his mouth and the shame washed over him.</p><p>‘I cannot do both,’ he said weakly, abandoning all attempt at the formal first. ‘I am – I am trying, and perhaps – perhaps I am <em>supposed </em>to be able to do both – but I cannot, and if I can only do one then there is only one choice – I – we are sorry, we are not angry with you – it is not your fault. Only – we cannot.’</p><p>He took a gulp of air, the tears threatening to spill over despite his best efforts, when Avris spoke.</p><p>‘You’re right,’ he said simply, meeting Maia’s eyes. ‘We didn’t think about what we were asking you; you are right, it is unfair.’</p><p>The straightforward answer and the lack of panic helped some of Maia’s panic ease. He nodded once, gratefully, and took several breaths until he felt a little steadier.</p><p>‘We are… sorry for losing our temper,’ he said quietly. ‘You all work very hard, and you did not deserve that.’</p><p>‘There is a difference between shouting at people and being upset in front of them,’ Kiru said gently. ‘The former is impolite, the latter is perfectly acceptable. And Your Serenity was firmly in the latter category.’</p><p>Maia gave her a grateful expression.</p><p>‘It does seem to be a matter that should be settled, however,’ Esaran said and Maia tensed again.</p><p>‘What would you suggest?’ he asked, trying not to look as wary as he felt. The wave of panic seemed to have deserted him almost as quickly as it had come, and now he felt foolish.</p><p>
  <em>Over-reacting over every little thing – they offer thee care, hobgoblin, and thou –</em>
</p><p>Esaran pursed her lips.</p><p>‘We are not certain,’ she said. ‘But we do not see that that should be an impediment; with Your Serenity’s permission, we will take some time to consider the matter, and put forward some suggestions in a week’s time.’</p><p>Maia nodded his agreement, and to his eternal gratitude, the meeting was allowed to dissolve. The staff filed out quietly, leaving only Kiru, Telimezh, and Csevet with him. Maia avoided meeting their eyes.</p><p>‘If you will permit us, Serenity,’ Csevet said quietly, ‘we think that was a meeting worth having, though we wish it had not needed to be so uncomfortable for you. And we are confident that adjustments and improvements can be made.’</p><p>Maia looked up. Csevet was still seated at the secretary’s desk in the corner, and his expression… not pity, not sympathy, as though he knew that Maia would not be able to stand it. But there was quiet resolve there, and approval. Maia swallowed, and breathed out.</p><p>‘Thank you, Csevet,’ he said quietly.</p><p>Their eyes stayed locked for a moment more, and then Maia coughed and broke away.</p><p>There was a little more paperwork to do, but the sun was still warm so Csevet suggested that he take it down into the garden to work. After half an hour of persisting through some complicated but non-urgent legal issue raised by the Guild of Architects, Maia felt as though he was perhaps capable of regaining his equilibrium.</p><p>~</p><p>Dinner, when it came, turned out to have been a good decision. Arbelan, Vedero, Csethiro, and Idra had all accepted, and after a few minutes of over-formality had eased into comfortable conversation that carried Maia along with them.</p><p>Just after the main course arrived, there was a lull. Csethiro, who had been expressing her opinion on the challenges of women’s education, glanced at the other three and then met Maia’s eyes.</p><p>‘Maia?’ she said gently.</p><p>‘Yes?’</p><p>‘Art thou all right?’</p><p>There was a long pause. Maia knew she did not refer to only the last few minutes, but to the last several weeks. He thought of deflecting, of deferring, of arguing that <em>of course, we are well</em>; then he thought of Csevet’s words. <em>A meeting worth having. </em>He steeled himself.</p><p>‘No,’ he said.</p><p>It was hard to look at the expressions around him; pity would have stung. But, surprisingly, as with Csevet, there was no pity. Arbelan and Vedero looked serious, and Idra likewise. Csethiro looked… determined. He almost smiled at her.</p><p>‘No, I’m not all right,’ he said quietly. He paused again, and sighed. ‘But I am… working on it. And I will get better.’</p><p>As he said it, something clicked into place in his head. If stubbornness would get him out of this, then at least he had plenty of that to spare.</p><p>‘Is there anything we can do?’ Arbelan asked.</p><p>‘You’re already doing it.’ He gave them all a faint smile. ‘We appreciate your company. All of you. We are glad to have you with us.’</p><p>Vedero picked up her glass.</p><p>‘To recovery,’ she said quietly.</p><p>The others echoed her, Maia with them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Turning As We Grow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belrenowet II, the 38<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>Belrenowet has the (some would say dubious) honour of being the emperor most overshadowed, in historical record, by the actions of his wife – Irino Drazharan, known as <em>Irino the Fierce</em>. Belrenowet had a comparatively difficult reign; contemporary accounts state that he had trouble commanding his lords and it is suggested by some scholars that he may have had some form of speech impediment, as well as several long illnesses. Irino Drazharan was reportedly dedicated to him, and scandalously led a number of military campaigns on his behalf.</p>
<p>As with many of the early emperors, nearly as much information about Belrenowet is hearsay and fable as it is fact; we do know, however, that he was the first emperor to commission a portrait of himself, and though it has since been lost there are existing copies that are thought to be faithful.</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>A few days after the household meeting, Esaran had done what in retrospect she should have done at the very beginning. She sought out Oshet, the Barizheise gardener, and asked him to explain to her how formality and rank were handled in a Barizheise household.</p>
<p>It had taken some back and forth discussion – Oshet’s Ethuverazheise was good, but he was more fluent in the concrete than the abstract, and this was a difficult enough subject to discuss in one’s first language. But they had made it there in the end, and she had made some careful notes so that she could think it over at her own pace. Sitting in her office near the end of the day, she went over it carefully in her mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>There is a line – there are lines between all the ranks, but for the sake of simplicity, say we discuss the line between nobility and commoner. A very notable line, widely recognised.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Ethuverazheise and the Barizheisei agree on this of the line: it is of incredible importance. It informs how they organise their world, and it merits a great deal of respect. Disrespect of this line is a social faux pas at the very least, and at worst an actual crime.</em>
</p>
<p><em>So in this the two societies are together. Where they divide is in </em>how <em>they show their respect.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>The Ethuverazheise say, ‘this line is of great importance, and we will show our respect by treating it as though it belongs in a museum’. They put a rope around it and a glass case, and one is not permitted to go near it, let alone touch it. What’s more, one must indicate to the world one’s position relative to the line. How to dress, how to speak, how to behave, what sort of work one may do or leisure one may enjoy; all of these things are defined by what side of the line one is on. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And if one must go so far as to speak to someone on the other side of the line? There are rituals and strict rules, and doing it wrong is a dire error.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Barizheisei, in their turn, say ‘this line is of great importance, and we will show our respect by demonstrating our trust in its strength’. One does not avoid the line – one trusts it like one trusts gravity, or air; it is intrinsic, fundamental, unavoidable, and it does not matter what one wears or how one speaks. An Ethuverazheise emperor scrubbing the floor would be a mortifying scandal, a betrayal of the line; a Barizheise equivalent scrubbing the floor would not be lessened at all, for his rank is not considered so relevant to his behaviour. A lord is a lord, be he in robes or rags, and woe betide any who forget it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Thus, the Ethuverazheise think that the Barizheisei have no sense of propriety, and the Barizheisei think the Ethuverazheise are trying too hard.</em>
</p>
<p>She made a noise of amusement to herself. It was a start, perhaps. A way to approach the problem, which she was convinced was partially rooted in the two conflicting understandings of rank and role. It explained Edrehasivar’s urge to know everyone’s name, the way he thanked everyone and looked faintly pained every time someone prostrated themselves or even bowed a little too frequently. It did not, however, explain his struggle to relax his manner when alone with the staff.</p>
<p>Or perhaps it did…</p>
<p>If one was alone with staff in a Barizheise context, she considered, one behaved rather as one might with one’s peers – and Edrehasivar was taking his cues from the staff, who all (she felt a flicker of pride) behaved with impeccable Ethuverazheise formality. If she were to go to the servants’ hall, and everyone around her kept carefully to the formal, would she not match them in that? Likely while feeling rather cold-shouldered? One mirrored the formality of those whose company one was in. But what the household was expecting Edrehasivar to do was to drop his formality – to a degree – whilst they kept theirs, which had to be jarring…</p>
<p>Edrehasivar had to <em>know</em> that wasn’t how it worked, surely. But then again, she considered, these sorts of things are half instinct by the time you’re in your mid-teens, and his instincts would have been learnt in his mother’s household.</p>
<p>
  <em>Barizheise instinct, Ethuverazheise training? He’d always be wrong by one measure, however he behaved. </em>
</p>
<p>She did a little more reading the next day – the Alcethmeret library had nothing on Barizheise customs, naturally, but she had spoken to Cala who had obtained some books from the library in the Mazan’theileian. Those were interesting too; and after a little more thought, she felt a solution was in grasp.</p>
<p>Armed with this, Esaran called a second formal household meeting. This one went much more smoothly than the first, due partially to her research and partly to Edrehasivar’s – Coris told her later that Edrehasivar had had several discussions with the zhasan about Ethuverazheise household formality in the aftermath of the previous meeting. Esaran had come some way since her initial dislike of Edrehasivar, but this merited particular approval: she appreciated that he had not seen the issue as entirely solvable at one end.</p>
<p>She was also grateful to Csevet, who in one of the kitchen discussions prior to the second meeting mentioned that Edrehasivar’s life before court was likely disrupting his communication in an additional way.</p>
<p>‘He spent a long time without a great deal of hope, I think,’ Csevet had said. ‘Hope… hurts, when someone’s trapped like that, and we know he never really expected to leave Edonomee. It makes – I think it makes him reluctant to ask for things he wants, sometimes. It’s a habit, because part of him expects it to be painful.’</p>
<p>Esaran had thanked him for this insight and put her own thoughts as to why he had had it to one side, to be considered at a later date.</p>
<p>The result of the meeting was that Esaran was to supply Edrehasivar with copies of the position requirements – just for the Upper Alcethmeret for now, but potentially for the Lower Alcethmeret at a later date. These were documents that specified each staff member’s position, the requirements and expectations thereof, and what they could not be asked to do or were free to decline. This was hoped to allow Edrehasivar to more easily judge the weight of a request, instead of persistently hoping not to inconvenience anyone and therefore not asking at all.</p>
<p>The nohecharei had also shared some thoughts about formality in their role; that was an ongoing discussion that they had been having for some time and were now, at least partially, including Edrehasivar in. Esaran thought it a sensible idea.</p>
<p>She had, listening to all of this, also come to the uncomfortable realisation that everything the household had done was technically correct – it had failed, however, because an emperor was presumed to have a <em>family. </em>Edrehasivar did, of course, but none of them had known him for more than a year – and however close they had the potential to grow now, it was not the same as taking the throne with the support of the family who had seen him as a child. Edrehasivar struggled, in part, because he lacked the foundations he should have had; and that had left a hole that the household now had to adjust to – not to fill, as they could not do that, that would have to come with time. But they could not ignore it either.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Several weeks passed, and summer turned towards autumn. Csethiro felt that she and Maia were settling into a very comfortable routine, especially as since his day off he had been more inclined to confide in her.</p>
<p>Her first summer as empress had been… challenging, though not in the ways she had expected.</p>
<p>There was the enjoyable challenge of managing the imperial reputation – Csethiro had never been the sort to indulge in court gossip for her own amusement, but she nevertheless found satisfaction in taking up the reigns in her own way, with the goal of improving her husband’s standing. If she happened to knock out one or two of Csoru’s fangs as she did so, well. That would only be a benefit.</p>
<p>Then there was the less enjoyable challenge of her relationship with Maia, though it might be truer to say that the challenge was with her own patience. While always courteous and thoughtful, Maia had withdrawn from her over the summer, and Csethiro had been worried that she had somehow caused it. He had a great deal of courage in his own way, she knew, but perhaps she had nevertheless managed to frighten him off? Had she been too persistent, too keen? Or, in trying not to crowd him, had she become too distant? He was careful to smile and present a good front in public, and he had never once been unkind or short with her; but he was quiet and withdrawn in private. And (bothering her more than she felt willing to admit) he avoided taking her hand, squeezing hers and then slipping immediately out of her grip whenever she took the initiative.</p>
<p>When she had broached the subject of his withdrawing to Maia (leaving aside the hand-holding as a potentially petty issue; perhaps he had not even realised he was doing it?), he had been quick to reassure her that she held no fault; however, he had been unwilling to admit to any other cause either, and so she had been stuck chewing on the worry in any case.</p>
<p>A week later, with no warning, he had taken the day off.</p>
<p>Csoru had been on top form that evening, all false concern – <em>it must be so challenging for His Serenity, he has so little experience of imperial matters really; you must be so worried, that he is so unwell and he hasn’t even sent for you to attend to him </em>– and Csethiro had been mere inches away from taking her dinner knife and sawing off a few of the zhasanai’s more ornate braids.</p>
<p>Fortunately for both Csoru and Csethiro, Arberlan Zhasanai had intervened, changing the subject with deft hand that Csethiro could not help but admire. She was growing to very much like Arbelan, to the probable horror of her father. The older woman was reserved and unflappable, and Csethiro had been enjoying joining her weekly dinners with Maia over the summer.</p>
<p>And even more fortunately, after Maia’s day off, he seemed to open up. With a transparent effort to conceal his disappointment in himself, he told her how much he had been struggling with his workload; how little he had been sleeping; how he had known himself to be in poor temper and wished to ensure she not have to endure it.</p>
<p>At that last revelation, she had pulled a little back from him so as to properly meet his eyes.</p>
<p>‘Maia Drazhar,’ she said firmly, ‘I am thy wife, and, I hope, thy friend. If thou art too sharp with me I shall be sure to say so; if I need time away from thee, I shall take it. But I am also willing to be beside thee when thou dost not feel fit for other company; needst not shield me so. Talk to me, in future?’</p>
<p>A sheepish but earnest agreement, and they had been on better terms.</p>
<p>Csethiro had made sure to take interest in all of the many facets of Maia’s efforts to ease his own burden (without, he was determined, abandoning his duty. Csethiro forbore to point out that any number of his predecessors had been content to do no work for weeks at a time, and while the government had not been pleased the country had hardly fallen apart). One of these Csethiro found particularly interesting was the addition of a chaplain to the Alcethmeret staff: Mer Dornar.</p>
<p>Csethiro had been unexpectedly early for lunch; as was her habit on these occasions, she joined Maia in the Tortoise Room and read a few pages from her book while she waited for him to finish his work. As it turned out, he had one remaining meeting – the Archprelate and his presentation of the proposed chaplain.</p>
<p>Mer Dornar was in his fifties (to Maia’s surprise, he told her later; apparently his initial conversation with the Archprelate had indicated a younger man would be selected), and around Maia’s height but heavier, with inquisitive brown eyes. His prelate’s robes were the soft grey of Cstheio Caireizhasan. He bowed with the Archprelate, who spoke first.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, may we present Mer Dornar, who we would highly recommend for the position of Alcethmeret chaplain? He has considerable expertise in the Barizheise faith, and has been a cleric of Cstheio for over thirty years.’</p>
<p>‘We are pleased to meet you, Mer Dornar,’ Maia returned. ‘Thank you, Archprelate. We would be glad to accept your recommendation.’</p>
<p>Csethiro’s interest had been piqued because she had not before been aware that her new husband had any particular faith. She herself had always been dismissive of the subject, but resolved to keep her thoughts to herself so as not to discourage him from discussing it with her when he was ready. He was still so wary of showing vulnerability – and in the Untheileneise Court, this might well be considered one.</p>
<p>So far he had not seemed inclined to talk on the subject with her; but she knew he visited the chapel several times a week, a curious little space down a flight of stairs from the main floor of the Lower Alcethmeret. And she knew that each time he returned, he seemed a little lighter, a little calmer. And that was enough.</p>
<p>Another little worry dissolved when he told her he had had an appointment with Ushenar, the court doctor, and he had been diagnosed with a mild inflammation around the joints in his hands.</p>
<p>‘I knew that the rings ached,’ he said wryly, flexing his hands gently. They were bare, as they often were now when he wasn’t expecting to see anyone other than the staff or the family. ‘But I thought it was nothing.’</p>
<p>‘Can Ushenar cure it?’ she asked, taking one hand very gently and skimming her thumb over the back of it. Maia gave her a lopsided smile.</p>
<p>‘Not entirely,’ he said. ‘But he says it can be managed; the edocharei are apparently investigating some alternative to the traditional Michen Mura, and in the meantime I only wear them in public.’</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>‘Is this why…’ she began, and then changed course slightly, ‘Do they hurt, when they are held?’</p>
<p>By his rueful expression and slightly lowered ears, her attempt at tact had not succeeded.</p>
<p>‘Not too much,’ he confessed, ‘but it makes me think about them, which makes it harder to ignore. I’m sorry, I should have told thee.’</p>
<p>She scooted closer to him on the settee and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.</p>
<p>‘Not to worry, I shall simply hang onto thy arm instead, and we’ll be all the closer.’</p>
<p>He provoked this in her, she reflected afterwards – the kind of cheering sweetness she had previously rather thought she lacked, having no patience for it. Perhaps it was only that it seemed to genuinely matter to him – she enjoyed lifting his mood, and he was getting better at returning the favour. Besides, his ability to tease and be teased was improving.</p>
<p>Prince Idra’s birthday passed; a relatively quiet affair, celebrated primarily by the family, as Idra had requested. Csethiro was still trying to puzzle Idra out, but she liked him well enough.</p>
<p>Maia still had bad days. Several times, during their regular private dinner, he apologised for being poor company, but she was content to call for a book to read and let him have a degree of quiet without needing to be alone – and he seemed, once he adjusted, to find this quite restful. It also meant that she had time to consider their arrangement.</p>
<p>She’d never had the nerve to have any actual dalliances before, though plenty of young women did before marriage; but now, with a supportive husband and the imperial title to protect her, she was growing… thoughtful.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that Maia wasn’t enough, she knew. Maia was… well, something of a revelation, in many ways. It was only that there was so much pressure, and he could only alleviate so much with his careful respect of her choices. She was curious about the idea of a more informal relationship, perhaps very brief… how much more free would she feel?</p>
<p>But it was early days yet, she thought. There was plenty of time.</p>
<p>She looked across the Tortoise Room at Maia, who had allowed himself the informality of tucking his legs underneath him in his seat beside fire and was watching the flames contemplatively.</p>
<p>‘I love thee,’ she said quietly.</p>
<p>Maia looked around, his expression startled. He stared at her for a moment, and then his expression softened into a smile.</p>
<p>‘I love thee too,’ he said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. If Tempests Are Kind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Imaginary internet points for anyone who can guess what the chapter title is referencing without googling it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belgaret III, the 139<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Belgaret III is most famous for being one of the main subjects of the opera ‘Polisar and Tanet’ – he was born a twin, and his reign was challenged by supporters of his younger brother who accused his mother of switching them in their cradles and thereby changing who would inherit the throne. The opera is almost entirely fiction, as Belgaret’s brother in fact expressed no interest in the throne and left the Drazhada to become a cleric of Orshan. The two men were reputedly on good terms for all of Belgaret’s reign, a far cry from the treacheries and passions often depicted on the stage.</p><p>Belgaret’s reign was characterised by his focus on religion and his adherence to religious principles; he had strong ties to the prelacy, which therefore rose in power and influence over the course of his thirty-four years on the throne.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>It was fast growing cooler, and winter was on the horizon – but the Alcethmeret was nothing if not prepared, and four small, elegant braziers had been arranged around Maia’s seat and table in the Alcethmeret gardens.</p><p>Being able to work outside had been such a gift in the summer, and he was determined to continue it as long as reasonably possible – though he did concede that it could not last much longer. He already only did two or three hours out here, just after lunch, and those were spent bundled up in as many layers as the edocharei could manage.</p><p>It was worth it, though.</p><p>After some insistence, Csevet across the table from him was similarly well-wrapped, though he managed to look elegant where Maia felt like an over-stuffed child’s toy. The two of them worked in a companiable silence, interspersed by discussion of the more challenging matters, and more than once Maia found himself taking the opportunity of Csevet’s industriousness to…</p><p>
  <em>To what?</em>
</p><p>Maia swallowed and looked back down at his work, concentrating on the flowing hand of the Prince of Thu-Istandaär – a carefully polite letter accompanying the initial crop yield reports for the principality.</p><p>He’d found himself doing that more and more, recently; or perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps he was only noticing himself doing it. But he was aware, always, of where Csevet was; even when he tried to ignore him, he knew what the secretary was doing and whether his careful manner was revealing any hints of his opinion.</p><p>Maia had known that his feelings had changed about Csethiro. At first she had been intimidating; then they had, slowly and then all at once, become friends. And then she had looked at him across the Tortoise Room one evening and told him she loved him and his response had felt… right. Natural. He <em>did </em>love her, though it was still tender and new – a little shoot, freshly sprouted out of the hard ground, with few hints about it as to what it would grow into.</p><p>He had spent days after that marvelling at the feeling, observing it from all angles; and then in the course of some other discussion Csevet had given him a rare, genuine smile, and Maia had thought: <em>oh.</em></p><p>Because there it was again.</p><p>He had, mercifully, managed not to panic. For the most part, anyway. There might have been a little internal panic, but it was quickly resolved.</p><p>
  <em>Thou art not going to act on it; provided thou maintains thy manner there is no reason he need ever know.</em>
</p><p>It was a private matter. Surely everyone had feelings they did not approve of at some point or another? Mer Dornar was firm on the subject that morality measured one’s actions, not one’s thoughts or feelings. Maia found that reassuring.</p><p>And really, it was hardly what one would call a <em>bad</em> feeling to have. Maia admired Csevet – his perspicacity, his efficiency, his dedication – and the more he reflected the more value he realised he had placed on Csevet’s approval from the beginning.</p><p>‘Serenity? The monthly report on the Drazhada expenses is next, when you are ready.’</p><p>Maia had been lost in thought; he suppressed his instinctive jerk of surprise, and took the paper from Csevet. They did not brush fingers. Maia had noticed that Csevet was careful to avoid that. Probably some kind of no-touching-the-emperor sort of rule. Which was appropriate, and sensible, of course.</p><p>
  <em>Stop it. Look at the paperwork.</em>
</p><p>Maia ran his eyes over the figures. Csoru all but emptying her allowance on fashion and fripperies, as was her wont; Maia did not begrudge that of her, but he did wonder if there was any way to convince her to pick up a worthy cause, such as some of the ladies of court did? Though if it came from him she would be certain to avoid it all the more thoroughly, so there likely was nothing he could do to suggest it.</p><p>
  <em>Thy wife looks to others, why not thee?</em>
</p><p>The thought was unbidden, and Maia pushed it away. He and Csethiro had spoken the other day on the matter: he had enquired, delicately, if she had been considering anything with regards to the kerich agreement; she had tilted her head and said that she was considering a small dalliance if she could guarantee an appropriate level of discretion, but she would let him know how things progressed.</p><p>Maia had expected, despite everything, to feel at least a little jealous; what he felt instead was largely relief, and glad that Csethiro seemed content. He loved her, and he wanted her happy, and that was all.</p><p>She had asked him if he had any thoughts on his own side of the matter, but he had demurred, feeling guilty. She had been clear enough that she was content for the arrangement to be mutual, but he still felt fearful of crossing some unknown line. He was happy for Csethiro to indulge, but…</p><p>
  <em>And why not thee?</em>
</p><p>A thousand, thousand reasons – he outranked everyone, for one, he had little grasp on court intrigue and how to disguise this sort of behaviour, for another. How did one even know someone else <em>felt </em>the same way when one was required to be that subtle? And when one was the emperor, how did one know that the other person was truly willing in the arrangement rather than seeking favour or – goddess forbid – feeling trapped by the power of their pursuer?</p><p>No, no, no. <em>No</em>. It wasn’t feasible, or acceptable.</p><p>Maia focused his eyes on the numbers in front of him once more. If Csevet had noticed his emperor’s inattention, he gave no sign.</p><p><em>Perhaps I should talk to Csethiro about it? </em>he thought uncertainly. She had been honest with him, after all. And she <em>was</em> three years older than him – perhaps she would have some advice? How to let feelings pass? <em>How to navigate a – </em>no, no. Advice, that was what he needed. A private space to discuss his feelings, or at least acknowledge them if Csethiro did not wish to hear detail, which he would very much understand. In fact, that seemed likely. He only needed to tell someone so that it did not crawl under his skin so much, and that would be all. Then he would busy himself with the rigorous demands on an emperor’s life, and soon enough the feelings would no doubt fade, and the problem would have solved itself.</p><p>Pushing down his doubts and refusing himself another glance across at Csevet, he moved on to the next piece of paperwork.</p><p>~</p><p>‘Excuse us, but are you an imperial courier?’</p><p>Toronis kept browsing the stall he was interested in, not bothering to turn around.</p><p>‘We can’t take extra messages, unless we’re on a run, and I’m not,’ he said. ‘And we’re not obliged to take the extras in any case.’</p><p>An irritated huff was his response.</p><p>‘We didn’t ask for you to take extra messages. We’re looking for a specific courier, we wondered if you might know where he is. But if you’re going to be like that, we shan’t bother you further.’</p><p>Toronis turned quickly enough then, hands open in defeat. Family or friends looking for fleet members was not something you ignored unless you wanted half of your fellow couriers sour with you. It was complicated by the fact that a lot of couriers had broken ties with family – no one wanted the possibility of running into them by chance, so it was best to handle it immediately and let the courier in question decide whether they were reachable or not. The person in question was striding away from him, so he jogged to catch her up.</p><p>‘Easy there, I’ll help thee, just tell me who thou art looking –’ He broke off, and blinked.</p><p>The young woman who had turned to face him was pretty, slender and Elvish-pale, with eyes he recognised almost immediately. The manner was wrong, the accent was wrong, the gender was obviously different but –</p><p>‘Csevet?’ he said, without thinking, then added, ‘That’s who thou art looking for, I’m guessing?’</p><p>From her expression, she was not surprised to be recognised. Toronis winced internally; he usually would not have slipped like that, but at least he could still say that Csevet was unavailable.</p><p>‘So thou art inclined to be helpful now?’ she asked, the north-eastern country accent clear and the tone scathing.</p><p><em>Csevet’s sharp tongue with none of the equilibrium</em>, he thought to himself, not considering that perhaps Csevet’s even temper had been something that Toronis had earned.</p><p>‘Anyone who knows where Csevet Aisava’ll be is up at the court,’ he said instead, still staring at her. ‘There’ll be some back-and-forth while they find him, but there’ll be somewhere to wait and eat and rest thy feet in the meantime.’ <em>And somewhere you can be put where you don’t run around Cetho looking like a mirror image of the imperial secretary.</em> He shook himself a little, and beckoned before turning.</p><p>‘This way, ‘tis not far,’ he said over his shoulder.</p><p>Toronis walked a little way, and then stopped and turned when he realised that she wasn’t following. She was stood exactly where she had been, her arms folded and one eyebrow raised. <em>Country girls, goddess have mercy</em>. <em>Fine</em>. He scanned the street. He’d seen her just a minute ago… ah.</p><p>‘Finno!’ he called. After much beckoning, the other courier made her way over to him.</p><p>‘What do <em>you</em> want?’</p><p><em>What is </em>wrong<em> with everyone this morning?</em> Toronis thought absently. He jerked a thumb at the stationary country girl.</p><p>‘Swap jobs with me, I’ll owe thee a favour. Little min here’s afraid to go off with a strange man, even if he’s trying to be helpful.’</p><p>‘We don’t find you frightening,’ the country girl said dryly. ‘Just tiresome.’</p><p>Finno, who had been looking like declining, snorted.</p><p>‘You’re not wrong,’ she said, then held out her satchel to Toronis. He took it and checked the address. Cetho, only a few streets away. Easy.</p><p>‘Finno, country girl. Country girl, Finno. She’s looking for Csevet. If thou wilt take her up to the fleet quarters to wait, I’ll deliver this and then see if I can’t track Csevet down before dinner.’</p><p>Interest flared in Finno’s eyes, and Toronis watched her take a second look at the country girl, past the dowdy clothes and grumpy posture to the familiar bone structure and, yes, the exact scowl that they both knew so well.</p><p>‘Alright,’ Finno said. ‘Come along with me, then. I’ll find you something to eat. Long journey?’</p><p>Toronis headed off at the shooing gesture, hefting the satchel over one shoulder. He couldn’t resist a glance back, though. She had none of Csevet’s posture, but somehow she still moved like him. Bird-like, neat.</p><p>~</p><p>Csevet shuffled through the papers. These days he seemed to be sorting more paperwork than he was reading – the new undersecretaries had filled out the team, and his role was becoming more focused on collating their work and presenting it to the emperor than doing the detail of the work himself. He still had plenty to get on with, however – he was learning a great deal from going through the reorganised paperwork and seeing how the experienced undersecretaries worked, for one thing. And he had the imperial schedule to manage and was the only secretary permitted to view private correspondence between Drazhada, who were numerous enough to cause a fuss on their own. That had been quiet lately, save for the news of the Nelada divorce. Csevet had not reported that to His Serenity, the emperor having requested not to hear about anything to do with Setheris Nelar unless he actually needed to act on it. Hesero Nelaran had moved back in with her family and seemed to be doing well, and if Setheris Nelar was unhappy about it he gave no sign where anyone could see.</p><p>He leafed through the papers that had been left for him, deliberately ignoring the way guilt was throbbing in the back of his mind like an extra heartbeat.</p><p>Csevean was here.</p><p>Toronis had shown up at the Alcethmeret at lunch, got Csevet to one side, and told him that there was ‘a girl the spit of thee, asking for thee – Finno took her up to the fleet quarters to wait, shall I say thou’lt make it down during dinner or tell her thou has left the fleet and the city and cannot be found?’</p><p>Csevet took a steadying breath. After pressing Toronis to keep this information to himself (as though it would make a difference – the fleet gossiped like sparrows), he wrote out a quick note to his sister and told Toronis to promise Finno a favour in return if she’d find Csevean somewhere respectable to stay in the city. He had the coin for it, after all, especially with the pay rise that His Serenity had insisted be retroactive.</p><p>His note had been brief.</p><p>
  <em>Sorry. Can’t get away right now. Will come see thee as soon as I may; in the meantime, thy food and board is paid for. Trust Finno, and don’t go out into the city after dark.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>C</em>
</p><p>Cetho was one of the least dangerous night time cities that Csevet knew, but Csevean had never left their tiny home village, and he didn’t want her taken advantage of.</p><p><em>Thou dost not </em>know<em> where she’s been,</em> he corrected himself uneasily. <em>Thou has never written to find out.</em></p><p><em>She did not write me either,</em> he countered. Then he shook his head a little to clear it. Water under the bridge, or at least pointless to worry about. He’d see about getting away to see her tomorrow or the day after – during dinner, perhaps, or His Serenity’s horse-riding lesson the morning after next.</p><p>For now, he had work to complete. What had he been in the midst of? <em>Ah, yes. </em></p><p>With the more substantial secretarial team, the imperial secretary focused on organisation – but also on the most sensitive matters, which were the reason for his being entitled to a room in the nest when the undersecretaries lived downstairs with the Lower Alcethmeret staff.</p><p>His Serenity had, after some hesitation, conceded to taking an appointment with Doctor Ushenar a little over two weeks ago. While nothing terribly alarming had been found, Ushenar had been concerned that the Empress Chenelo’s medical records were not available. For noble families, usually careful notes were kept to monitor the risks of inheritable conditions; and for the emperor, of course, nothing could be missed.</p><p>However, the former empress’s status had complicated matters. The file should have been stored by Ushenar, but he had relinquished it when she was no longer in his care – her move to Isvaroë. Therefore, it should have been in the papers and such that travelled back from Isvaroë to court upon her death, and probably had been; but then where would it have gone?</p><p>Properly, either Ushenar or imperial records; perhaps even in the nohecharei records, though they usually only held the file for the reigning emperor. But wherever they had looked, it was missing.</p><p>Csevet had been searching high and low for the file for most of the last fortnight. Esaran had been trying to help – she had been responsible for managing the arrival of the former empress’s belongings, but paper records should have been separated. There was a concern that they had gone with the things to be burned, but Csevet was not quite willing to give up on them that easily.</p><p>He had tried another tactic: Chenelo Zhasan’s illness had been an extended one, so there must have been some communication with the court on the subject. The chancellery kept copies of a lot of imperial correspondence, though not all – the emperor’s decisions were a matter of record. The chancellery had forwarded what it had to him, and he had that (he moved a few pieces around on the desk)… <em>there</em>. And Mer Hallettar and he had spent several hours over various evenings and lunchtimes trawling through undersecretary records just in case – and just as Csevet was finishing his supper, he had been called to the grilles where Mer Hallettar was waiting triumphantly.</p><p>‘I think this is it,’ he said. ‘Found it tucked in behind some ancient Drazhada financials. It looks shuffled out of order, but it’s otherwise the right sort of format. I’ll keep looking in case there’s something more to it. Horrendous mis-filing, I can’t think how it happened.’</p><p>Now Csevet finally had the file, and the correspondence. Properly it should go to His Serenity or Doctor Ushenar first, but Csevet thought it inappropriate to hand over any document in such a state. He would sort it into order, make note of where it had been found and in what manner, and then he could present it to His Serenity in the morning.</p><p>It took several minutes to work out the correct order – though the entries were usually dated, the handwriting was dense, and he was also including the correspondence with the court that related to it at appropriate points. Impossible not to read sections as he did so; impossible to ignore a growing sense of dread as pieces of a very old puzzle began to slot together.</p><p>Finally he sat with the completed file in front of him. He stared at it. <em>It has to be a mistake. I read it too fast, in too many small pieces. Take it in order.</em></p><p>He read through it again.</p><p>If anything, it made it worse.</p><p>He sat there, alone in the gaslight, his thoughts spiralling around, with only one of them clear.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to have to be the one to tell him.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. At the Mercy of Anmura</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter warnings for grief, loss of a parent, medical negligence; please see endnotes for a TL;DR with more detailed information if you need it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Edrehasivar III, 179<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>Edrehasivar III is more frequently referred to by his sobriquet, ‘the widow emperor’. His wife, Ristino Drazharan, died young in the first year of his reign after giving birth to their third child and only son. Edrehasivar’s grief was famously persistent; he wore mourning colours for the rest of his thirty-four year reign, never remarried, and made weekly visits to his wife’s tomb.</p>
<p>Despite this preoccupation, he was regarded as a reasonable emperor. His politics were moderate and he was wise enough not to require his extended mourning be mirrored by his court. He oversaw an increase in trade with surrounding countries, and supported the expansion of the town of Nelozho into a larger city.</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Breakfast in the Upper Alcethmeret kitchen was a quiet one that morning. Esha was eating porridge and thinking over plans for the emperor’s new wardrobe – the season change was upon them. They had most of it ready, but there were still a few fine details to adjust, and of course they were already planning for Winternight.</p>
<p>‘Csevet, art thou alright?’</p>
<p>Esha looked up from his food. It was Deret who’d spoken, the tone concerned. Csevet, impeccably turned out and up to his elbows in paperwork as usual, gave an odd little quirk of the lips that was probably meant to be a smile. His ears were low and his eyes were a little red, as though he’d not slept.</p>
<p>
  <em>Or been crying.</em>
</p>
<p>‘I’m fine,’ he said quietly when Deret kept staring at him. Then he sighed. ‘There’s just… I have some bad news for him today. I don’t like… after how hard he’s been working lately, it hardly seems fair. But I can’t keep it from him.’</p>
<p>Esha heard Avris mutter a curse, and he agreed. Himself had been doing a lot better since his breakdown in the summer, it was hardly right it should be ruined by… <em>what?</em></p>
<p>But if Csevet had thought it appropriate he would have said already, so Esha didn’t ask.</p>
<p>‘Well, at least this is happening <em>after </em>he’s started to feel better,’ he said instead. ‘Rather than before, when it would have been piled on top of everything else.’</p>
<p>Csevet didn’t answer, and Esha wondered if he had even been listening. Cala and Deret glanced at each other. No one seemed to quite know what else to say.</p>
<p>‘Well, we’ll come a little early for the shift change, then,’ Cala ventured, watching Csevet. ‘We’ll walk up with thee.’</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Csevet seemed uncharacteristically on edge this morning, and Maia tried not to speculate why. <em>None of thy business, keep thy thoughts to thyself.</em> It was easier than usual to turn his thoughts away, however; Cala and Beshelar had arrived early, and now all four nohecharei were quietly discussing upcoming shifts in one corner while Csevet laid a number of items relating to Maia’s mother’s medical record out on the low table in the Tortoise Room.</p>
<p>‘We have verified this discreetly with the chancellery,’ he said. ‘Though we did not need to inform anyone else of the contents in order to do so, and therefore they remain confidential. We are confident of its veracity; we have also provided a reference guide in case Your Serenity wishes to check any terminology.’</p>
<p>Maia took a seat in front of the carefully arranged file and the medical reference book beside it, frowning. Csevet was, then, perhaps worried that Maia would be upset? He wasn’t looking forward to this, but… <em>stop putting it off</em>, he told himself. <em>Have it done</em>.</p>
<p>He began to read.</p>
<p>And after a page or two, the world around him seemed to vanish. There was nothing but his own mind, and the words on the page. Until the last one. The record of death.</p>
<p>
  <em>Cause of death: chronic leshtin fever, no complications (untreated). </em>
</p>
<p>Maia felt as though the corners of his vision were darkening, disappearing, everything narrowing around that one final word.</p>
<p>
  <em>(untreated)</em>
</p>
<p>The book on the table, with its lists of conditions; Csevet had marked the page, and Maia fumbled to it, knowing in his heart what it would say.</p>
<p>
  <em>Weakness of the limbs… instability of heart rate… prone to fevers and migraines, growing worse as the illness progresses… available treatments…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Leshtin fever, blessedly, is a treatable illness unless the patient has underlying complications (and even then treatment is often successful). Treatment involves regular medicine and careful monitoring by a physician, and most patients make a full recovery.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Deaths from leshtin fever can usually be attributed to severe complications or, more frequently, medical negligence/incompetence. </em>
</p>
<p>He turned numbly back to the file and its neatly clipped run of letters.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please send a physician to attend upon Chenelo Drazharan, or clear permission for us to hire one more locally…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Her condition is poor but not so poor that she may not recover with proper medical attention…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We know that His Serenity does not wish to be disturbed with matters relating to Chenelo Drazharan but we cannot in good conscience…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If His Serenity will not value the life of his wife, then surely that of his son… the boy is only seven years of age and should not lose his mother for a father’s disregard…</em>
</p>
<p>All from Ilvian, the house steward at Isvaroë, growing increasingly desperate as the time passed. All of them stamped and signed as having passed the desk of the imperial secretary and the eyes of the emperor. All of them attached to bland, emotionless responses.</p>
<p>
  <em>Chenelo Drazharan is a relegated subject, and is not permitted outside visitors.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Your household has been reminded of the rules on numerous occasions. Do not raise this matter again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His Serenity wishes it to be made clear that further attempts to circumvent relegation will be treated as breaches of the law. You should be aware that house stewards are easily replaced.</em>
</p>
<p>Someone was speaking; perhaps Csevet, perhaps one of the nohecharei. It didn’t matter. Maia spoke over them.</p>
<p>‘Mer Aisava, we will be indisposed today,’ he said, listening with dull surprise to how calm and steady his own voice was. ‘Please cancel all appointments and make arrangements for us to dine alone. Thank you, that will be all.’</p>
<p>His heartbeat seemed to have stopped; there was a dull, throbbing weight in his chest, but it wasn’t a heart. Someone moved in front of him – Kiru – but he waved her away.</p>
<p>‘We have no need of four nohecharei, please complete your shift change,’ he said quietly, and ignored them as they did so.</p>
<p>With Csevet dismissed on his own tasks and the Second Nohecharei away, there were only three people left in the room. Cala and Beshelar were silent, so Maia dismissed them from his thoughts. He had no space for them now.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Go along outside and play, now, your grace.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘But I want to see mama!’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘The zhasan needs her rest.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I can be quiet!’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Cstheio have mercy. Thy mama is… talking to the doctor, michen, and that’s private. Leave her be, thou hast the whole grounds to thyself.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘When will the doctor be gone?’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘By suppertime, someone will call thee in. Now off thou goest, go on, on with thee.’</em>
</p>
<p>He had snuck back around, though, and been much mystified. There had been no doctor; no carriage or horse had pulled up to the house, and none of the other servants knew of a visitor. He had told Ilvian and she had rebuked him for being a nosy child, and when he had asked his mother she had paused and said he was to listen to Ilvian.</p>
<p>There had been no doctor. The file made that clear; no doctor had ever been permitted at Isvaroë, and no one had gathered the nerve to summon one without that permission. Had it been fear on the part of the household, he wondered; or had it been that no local doctor would have taken the risk? The household might not have reported it to court, but unlike Edonomee, Isvaroë had a handful of guards with whom Maia was not permitted to talk. They reported to their captain in the nearest town every month, and showed no interest in friendship with the rest of the household. They may well have been able to report to court.</p>
<p>
  <em>Chenelo Drazharan is a relegated subject, and is not permitted outside visitors.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Your household has been reminded of the rules on numerous occasions. Do not raise this matter again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His Serenity wishes it to be made clear that further attempts to circumvent relegation will be treated as breaches of the law.</em>
</p>
<p>Maia rose. Something in the back of his mind was wailing like a wounded animal, but the rest of him felt hollow. Perhaps this was what form and etiquette were truly for: to form the shell around you when there was nothing inside.</p>
<p>He did not speak as he left the Tortoise Room, leaving the papers on the table. He walked down the stairs, ignoring Beshelar’s acknowledgement of the guards at the grilles; walked as though something was pulling him down, walked as though there might be no way back up again.</p>
<p>He crossed the Lower Alcethmeret, finding his way to the chapel. More stairs down, then the corridor, then the doors. He opened them himself, moving a step to the side to block Beshelar from doing so; then paused.</p>
<p>‘We need only one,’ he said. He did not bother to look and see which of them remained and which of them waited outside. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.</p>
<p>Mer Dornar looked around when he entered, and gave a bow. But he said nothing, only watched Maia quietly. Maia ignored him, standing in the centre of the chapel, looking blindly about himself.</p>
<p>He had reached for the chapel in the same way he had, as a child, reached up for his mother’s hand when he was afraid – but he had thought no further than that, no further than that singular grasp, and there was nothing there, there had been once but now there was nothing there –</p>
<p>
  <em>There could have been.</em>
</p>
<p>The thought hit him like a stone in the chest, and he dropped to his knees on the marble, curling forwards in pain, hands in fists, the weight of it dragging him down and down and down –</p>
<p>His breath was coming in gasps, and he could see the tears hitting the floor.</p>
<p>
  <em>She could have been here. She could have stayed with me. She could have been with me as I grew, she could have stayed, she could have returned to court with me and been by my side, but he took her away from me he took her away –</em>
</p>
<p>It was a little while before he realised that Mer Dornar had knelt down beside him. A pause; and then a hand on his back, an anchor, a reminder that he was not alone here. And then, words.</p>
<p>‘Tell me.’</p>
<p>The dam broke.</p>
<p>‘He killed her.’ Maia took a horrible, gasping breath, then spat the words out again. ‘He <em>killed </em>her, she could have stayed with me, <em>she didn’t have to die</em>, she could have <em>stayed</em> with me but she was – she was – she was only a mistake to him but she was my <em>whole world </em>and he <em>killed </em>her – <em>lying, murdering </em>–<em>’</em></p>
<p>He was rocking now, Dornar’s hand on his back, staring at the white marble through the blur of tears, his heart tearing a hole in his chest, his whole body aching.</p>
<p>‘He knew she was sick,’ he whispered, his throat straining. ‘He knew she was sick, and he knew she could get better, and they asked him for help – they <em>kept</em> asking him for help – and <em>he turned them down.</em> He <em>let </em>her die, he didn’t have to, why would he – how can anyone – she didn’t have to die, she could have stayed with me, oh – oh –’</p>
<p>He couldn’t stop, falling endlessly, unable to step back from it, not <em>wanting </em>to step back from it.</p>
<p>‘How could he – how <em>dare </em>he – I tried <em>so hard</em> not to hate him, I tried <em>so hard</em>, because everyone has flaws, because there are people here who cared about him, because I thought – because I thought – because I knew what it was like to want him to love me and he <em>killed her</em>, she’s <em>dead</em> because of him and I –’</p>
<p>He slammed his hands on the floor, not caring that they hurt, and made a horrible, strangled noise.</p>
<p>‘I hate him – I <em>hate </em>him – I wish he wasn’t my father, I –’</p>
<p>Deep, gulped breaths, then shuddering sobs for what felt like forever.</p>
<p>‘And there’s <em>nothing I can do</em>,’ he said eventually, voice shaking. ‘There’s nothing. I can’t disown him, because he’s my claim to the throne – I can’t disavow him for the same reason, I can’t punish him because he’s dead, I can’t even <em>ask him </em>– and it doesn’t matter, it’s all pointless, because she’s dead, I can’t save her, she’s <em>dead </em>because of him and there’s <em>nothing I can do –</em>’</p>
<p>He curled forward further, trying to breathe, trying to find something to hold onto, anything. His forehead touched the cold marble floor, damp with tears. Mer Dornar’s hand was steady on his back. For a long while, there were no words, only tears and clenched fists and an endless, gutting ache.</p>
<p><em>She could have been here. She could have been with me. No Setheris, cutting remarks and quick fists; she would not have tolerated that. No aching loneliness in the western marshes. And then – coming here. A room for her in the Lower Alcethmeret at first, perhaps, then her own quarters. She could have written to her father again, and he might have finally written back. She could have met her sisters. Travelled back home – he would have encouraged it, if she had wanted it. He would have been able to go to her when everything felt wrong – she would have met Csethiro, she would have </em>been<em> here…</em></p>
<p>The words twisted around and around again as he wept.</p>
<p>But nothing, no matter how terrible, lasts forever. Even if it feels as though it should.</p>
<p>Time passed, somehow.</p>
<p>His eyes dried, somehow.</p>
<p>His back ached from tension and so did his jaw; his hands throbbed against the marble.</p>
<p>His breathing had evened a little by the time Mer Dornar spoke, soft and steady in the quiet room.</p>
<p>‘You are angry,’ he said.</p>
<p>Maia nodded, once, the movement jerky.</p>
<p>‘What else?’ Dornar asked. Dornar had asked him something like this before, persuading him to name each feeling in its own right. It had the feeling of a ritual, almost, and Maia clung to it.</p>
<p>‘Betrayed,’ he said quietly, swallowing. ‘Grieving. Alone. Disappointed. Hurt.’ He paused, and then added one more. ‘Lost.’</p>
<p>Mer Dornar nodded, and Maia knew he would remember every word.</p>
<p>‘Which most of all, in this moment?’ he asked.</p>
<p>Maia did not need to pause to consider.</p>
<p>‘Anger,’ he said, closing his eyes.</p>
<p>‘To whom does anger belong?’ Dornar asked calmly.</p>
<p>Maia opened his eyes again, pushing himself slowly back onto his heels and allowing himself to see the room. It was a small chapel, but it had alcoves for each of the seven deities that Maia was familiar with, as well as an additional space for others. His eyes landed on the third from the left, the alcove with the figure of a formidable man bearing a sword and a mask in the shape of the sun.</p>
<p>‘Anmura,’ he said, the word more breath than sound.</p>
<p>Mer Dornar did not make any move to push him onwards, only waited; after a minute or so, Maia got unsteadily to his feet. It was only a few steps over to the correct alcove; there was a cushion there, to kneel on, and he sank down again without hesitation. Mer Dornar joined him to his right; and then, to Maia’s surprise, Beshelar knelt at his left.</p>
<p>Maia looked him, and Beshelar looked solemnly back.</p>
<p>‘Soldiers often pray to Anmura,’ Mer Dornar said quietly. ‘We thought the lieutenant would be able to help here.’</p>
<p>Maia nodded numbly.</p>
<p>‘I don’t know any words for Anmura,’ he said, feeling the scratch in his throat. <em>She didn’t have time to teach me enough. She could have taught me everything.</em></p>
<p>‘We do, Serenity,’ Beshelar said gently, and Maia nodded again.</p>
<p>There was a pause, while the soldier gathered himself. Then he spoke, even and firm.</p>
<p>‘Anmura, grant me sureness in my actions. Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury. Anmura, grant me honour in my heart.’</p>
<p>The mantra sounded comfortable, well-worn, and after only two turns Mer Dornar joined in. Beshelar and Dornar spoke together, steady and rhythmic, and Maia picked up the unfamiliar words as they did so and joined them.</p>
<p>
  <em>Anmura, grant me sureness in my actions. Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury. Anmura, grant me honour in my heart.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Anmura, grant me sureness in my actions. Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury. Anmura, grant me honour in my heart.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Anmura, grant me sureness in my actions. Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury. Anmura, grant me honour in my heart.</em>
</p>
<p>His voice was shaky and wavering beside theirs; but the ritual of it helped. It did not make anything better; it did not solve that he had a murderer for a father, that he had no mother, that he would never be able to disavow his mother’s murderer –</p>
<p>
  <em>– grant me sureness in my actions; Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury; Anmura, grant me honour in my heart. Anmura –</em>
</p>
<p>– but somewhere, deep in one corner of his mind, there was something. Some awareness that perhaps, just perhaps, this might not utterly destroy him. Not in the long term. It was only a small part; the rest of him could not bring himself to care about the long term yet. In this moment, he was hollow with grief and rage, and there was little else. But the mantra had established a handhold, and the idea that there might be another one beyond it. In time.</p>
<p>
  <em>– grant me sureness in my actions; Anmura, grant me a harness for my fury; Anmura, grant me honour in my heart. Anmura –</em>
</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It was nearly midnight.</p>
<p>Csethiro was accustomed to being up late for court functions, but it always felt different when one had intended to be asleep.</p>
<p>She was with Maia, in the imperial bedroom, with Maia himself curled up in her arms and finally asleep. She’d never seen him cry like that before, and it had been hard – hard to see, hard not to respond with anger that she knew would only make him feel worse.</p>
<p><em>He does not deserve this, </em>she thought quietly to herself, cold with fury, one hand gently stroking Maia’s hair to help him sleep. No one deserved such a thing, truly; but Maia? Maia, who was kind to everyone, who had worn court mourning for a man who he had never met, who would risk an empire and the security of his own throne to avoid distressing his new wife…</p>
<p>Maia who always seemed to be alone, even in company. Maia who was only just learning not to flinch slightly when she touched him. Maia who had been working so hard to do better, only to have this news crash down like an avalanche. <em>Like an airship.</em></p>
<p>Csethiro breathed out slowly.</p>
<p>He would get through this. She would make certain of it.</p>
<p>They were expecting Arbelan to join them for dinner tomorrow, their regular arrangement; she thought she might ask Maia if she might tell Arbelan of Chenelo, for the zhasanai had no love of Varenechibel and perhaps would be just what Maia needed. He had his horse-riding lesson the morning after that; good. Fresh air was a balm, albeit a small one. Perhaps she would join him.</p>
<p>As she ran through possibilities in her mind, she allowed her free hand to do what she was careful not to in public: move to rest on her stomach, though there was no curve there yet.</p>
<p>And she would save her own news a little longer, she thought. Until he was ready to hear it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Summary for anyone who needed to skip: The information that Csevet found was Chenelo’s medical file, along with some correspondence between the house steward and the court indicating that Chenelo’s illness could have been treated but the emperor declined to allow it. Maia is devastated by this news and breaks down in the chapel, where Mer Dornar helps him regain his footing a little. Csethiro mulls this over later, and it's implied that she's pregnant but has not told Maia yet.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A Little Knowledge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belmaliven IX, the 148<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p>
<p>The last Belmaliven to rule, Belmaliven IX originated the concept of a so-called “three points” system in Ethuverazheise government: the delicate balance of power between the Parliament, the Judiciate, and the Corazhas. This system persists to the present day, and has done much to stabilise the process of government and avoid excessive in-fighting.</p>
<p>Belmaliven’s reign was comparatively short, at just fourteen years, due to his age upon gaining the throne (seventy-three); he oversaw the beginnings of significant changes to laws around imprisonment which would be pursued throughout the reign of his son (see following entry).</p>
<p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The summons had come very early in the morning, and although Eiru Berenar found he did not need nearly as much sleep these days as he had done as a younger man, it still made for an unpleasantly groggy start. He elected not to stop for breakfast, reasoning that it would only mean he would have to rush to make it to the Alcethmeret. He could eat afterwards.</p>
<p>He rolled his shoulders as he made his way down the corridor. Seven-thirty was early even for Edrehasivar. Years of practice meant his court face showed only neutrality, but behind it his thoughts were ticking away – and tinged with worry.</p>
<p>Edrehasivar had been doing so much better; the adjustments to the schedule and the secretarial work had made a great difference. And Eiru was certain there was more too it – he knew, as most of the court did, that the Alcethmeret now had a chaplain again for the first time in decades; he knew that the zhas and zhasan seemed warmer around each other, her arm in his on the occasional walk outside the Alcethmeret. Edrehasivar still had bad days, undoubtedly – they were almost invisible as they occurred, but the day after Edrehasivar would always find a way to apologise. He really would have to talk to the emperor about apologies at some point, he thought; but then again, Edrehasivar wasn’t a fool enough to use them with anyone he did not trust. Eiru felt privileged to be someone he did.</p>
<p>But where, in amongst all of that, did this early morning summons fit in? The hour suggested a desire for discretion, which implied a scandal; but on the other hand, Eiru had emphasised with the emperor to schedule matters according to his own comfort, and Edrehasivar did seem to be up earlier these days.</p>
<p><em>But he knows no one else is,</em> he thought to himself. <em>And he is usually loathe to inconvenience anyone. </em></p>
<p>The note had held no details and had been hand-delivered by Mer Aisava, who had made his excuses fast enough that Eiru had had no chance to make enquiry of him.</p>
<p>His worry deepened when he reached the doors of the Lower Alcethmeret and saw two familiar figures in conversation.</p>
<p>‘Marquess Lantheval, Lord Pashavar,’ Eiru said, resisting the urge to frown. No reaction until he knew what it was Edrehasivar needed from him. The two older men gave polite nods in return.</p>
<p>‘Early hours for a meeting, Berenar,’ Pashavar said, though he sounded intrigued beneath his usual grumbling tone.</p>
<p>Eiru shrugged, trying to summon something appropriately neutral to respond with, but was thankfully saved by the arrival of Mer Aisava. The Imperial Secretary looked impeccable as always, but Eiru thought he could see tiredness around his eyes.</p>
<p>‘Lord Chancellor, Marquess Lantheval, Lord Pashavar,’ he said, bowing. ‘His Serenity awaits you in the Tortoise Room, if you will follow us.’</p>
<p>They did so. Eiru noted that the marquess was not hiding his curiosity as they climbed the stairs, and realised that Lantheval’s opportunities to visit the Upper Alcethmeret were likely rare despite his elevated office. The Presider of the House of Blood might socialise with the emperor, but they rarely did direct business.</p>
<p><em>It seems they must this morning</em>, he mused as they reached the iron grilles. <em>But for what reason? </em>It had not escaped him that between the three of them they covered all major areas of government, either in their present roles or past experience – Parliament, Corazhas, Judiciate, chancellery, treasury. Strictly speaking they could not be considered a three-points meeting – the representative of the Corazhas would have to be a distinct person from the representative of the Judiciate – but it was nevertheless a significant amount of power for the emperor to gather in one room, early in the morning when few courtiers were awake to spot them passing through the corridors.</p>
<p>When they entered the Tortoise Room, Eiru had expected to see the emperor seated by the fireplace, the slightly sheepish smile that belied the otherwise imperial manner. But Edrehasivar was standing, staring out of the window with his back to the door, and when he turned to them Eiru thought he had only just managed to clear his expression in time.</p>
<p>They bowed, and Eiru spoke first.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, with what may we assist you this morning?’ he asked. Edrehasivar was usually straightforward to read – but his expression was shuttered now, making it not unlike attempting to read a stone wall. <em>Has he </em>always <em>been able to do that?</em></p>
<p>‘Lord Berenar, Marquess Lanetheval, Lord Pashavar,’ he said, his voice harder than usual, ‘we thank you for coming at such an hour and on such short notice. We do not intend for this meeting to take long.’</p>
<p>There was a pause, not quite long enough for any of the others to interject; and then Edrehasivar continued.</p>
<p>‘We have recently come across some information that has… distressing implications,’ he said quietly. ‘We would appreciate it if you would look through it. Please do feel free to sit; and we apologise for not joining you.’</p>
<p>He gave no reason, and Eiru suddenly realised what emotion was in his voice. It was <em>anger</em>; simmering, relentless anger, carefully controlled but nevertheless not something he had ever seen in Edrehasivar before.</p>
<p>Mer Aisava opened a file and arranged some papers on the low table; Eiru, Lantheval, and Pashavar took their seats. In another circumstance, Eiru might have protested the breach of form; but now that he had recognised the emperor’s anger in his voice, he could also see it in the lines of his body. <em>It is all he can do not to pace the room</em>, he thought, concerned.</p>
<p>The paperwork in front of them appeared to be a medical record, and several formal letters to and from the court. It took several minutes for all three of them to read everything; when they were done, Eiru sat back in his seat, reeling and trying to organise his thoughts. There was a long pause.</p>
<p>‘What do you intend to do with this information?’ Pashavar asked quietly.</p>
<p>Edrehasivar, who had returned to staring out of the window while the papers were read, heaved a sigh and turned back to them.</p>
<p>‘Nothing,’ he said wearily. ‘We see no purpose in… publicising it, only pain and controversy. However, as we cannot guarantee how confidential it is – the Isvaroë household will certainly be aware, the former undersecretaries quite possibly – we wished to ensure that should this information ever escape on its own accord, a handful of our senior government has been in position to verify the facts.’</p>
<p>Eiru understood immediately. Edrehasivar was known to have no fondness for his father, despite never publicly speaking against him; this information would divide the court, with his detractors likely opining that it was a base lie intended as revenge for years of relegation. This way, Edrehasivar had three senior members of government, all formerly on good terms with Varenechibel, to vouch for the truth of the matter. It would not solve the problem, but it would serve as mitigation.</p>
<p>The three of them, with Edrehasivar watching quietly, had a brief discussion around discreet independent verification (though the documents were not doubtful, Pashavar said, it did well to make it watertight). Then, mindful of Edrehasivar’s mood, they bowed and were dismissed.</p>
<p>Eiru lingered; breakfast beckoned, but he had a degree of responsibility towards his young emperor, and he did not like to leave him alone.</p>
<p>‘Lord Berenar?’ Edrehasivar asked, an eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>Eiru made a decision.</p>
<p>‘Serenity, if you have not yet breakfasted you would be welcome to join ourself and our wife,’ he said.</p>
<p>That, at least prompted something like genuine appreciation on Edrehasivar’s face, albeit briefly.</p>
<p>‘We thank you; we have already eaten, but…’ This was accompanied by the faint frown Edrehasivar wore when he was uncertain of his etiquette. Eiru saved him, sympathetic.</p>
<p>‘Another time this week, perhaps?’ he offered.</p>
<p>Edrehasivar gave him a small, grateful smile.</p>
<p>‘We would be glad to,’ he said.</p>
<p>‘We shall send an invitation through. And you know we are always available should you need any assistance.’</p>
<p>The formalities done, Eiru left the Alcethmeret. He greeted one or two early risers in the corridors, cheerful and matter-of-fact, while he turned over the morning’s revelations in his mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘We see no purpose in… publicising it, only pain and controversy.’</em>
</p>
<p><em>Varenechibel</em>, Eiru thought bitterly, <em>you don’t deserve the mercy he grants you.</em></p>
<p>~</p>
<p>At seven-thirty that evening, when the emperor had left off his work to prepare for dinner, Csevet slipped away through the servants corridors and out into the city. Finno had told him where she’d found lodgings for Csevean, and Csevet knew it by reputation – cheap enough to be unremarkable, costly enough to be reasonable quality, and women-only. There were reasonable odds he would not be allowed in, as a strange man on the premises, but he and Csevean’s likeness might sway the landlady and if not they could go out.</p>
<p>As it turned out, Finno had told the landlady who he was and that he might be visiting. The landlady was obviously an admirer of the emperor – she had a cousin in the clockmaker’s guild, she told him, and the whole family was terribly enthused about the bridge.</p>
<p>‘It’ll be the dawn of a whole new era, our cousin says,’ she said as she showed him upstairs, the upshot of her enthusiasm being that she was quite honoured to have the imperial secretary’s sister in residence and <em>of course </em>he could visit, he must work such long hours up at court.</p>
<p>Csevet thanked her with his court manners, and tipped her with a hint towards his appreciation of her discretion. She accepted, and then he was left in front of the door to his sister’s room.</p>
<p>After having delayed almost two days, boiling with a mix of anxiety and resentment that made him feel like a child, the last conversation they’d had came back to him like a slammed door.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I’m leaving, I know where I’m not wanted. Come with me, we’ll go together –’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Thou canst not expect to just walk into a whole new life! It isn’t real, Csevet, it’s the stuff of nonsense, I won’t lose my brother to an idiot’s wondertale –’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Fine, stay here then. Thou wouldst rather have the company of our father, then thou mayst keep him all to thyself!’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Thou hast no right to – I’m the one being abandoned! I’m not the one running away from –’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I won’t stay here and thou wilt not stop me from leaving!’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Go, then.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Csevean –’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Goodbye, Csevet.’</em>
</p>
<p>Csevet took a long breath and breathed it out. <em>Eight years. </em>Then he reached out a hand, and knocked.</p>
<p>The door opened abruptly, as if she had been waiting on just the other side of it. Given how loud the landlady had been talking in the corridor, Csevet thought, perhaps she had.</p>
<p>
  <em>Make it right, then, Aisava.</em>
</p>
<p>His sister was… well. Not the same as when he had left. But if she’d grown up in a different way to him, if at any point in the process their similarity had diminished, it did not show. It was almost like looking in a mirror, as it had been when they were children. Except that his mirror-self had longer hair bound in a country braid, worn clothes mended neatly, and was biting her lower lip.</p>
<p>‘Hello, Csevean,’ he said quietly.</p>
<p>She gave him a small smile.</p>
<p>‘Thou had best come in, then,’ she said, and Csevet remembered when his voice had been almost indistinguishable from hers. The rhythm, the emphasis, the lengthening of -st to s-t. He had learnt a court accent well, and quickly, glad to shed his past for a brighter future – and he’d picked up a dozen other accents too, delighted by the ability to camouflage himself wherever he went. But this one came from another era entirely.</p>
<p>The room was small, just a bed with a chest at the foot of it for belongings; there were hooks on the walls and a mirror. Everything in it was neat, however, and well-kept.</p>
<p>There was nowhere to sit but the bed; Csevet ended up leaning against one wall, not sure how this was going to go. After almost a minute of awkward silence, Csevean broke it.</p>
<p>‘Well, goddess, are we to talk or not, then?’ she said, and Csevet could see the nervousness in her bravado. Remembered fondness.  </p>
<p>‘What brings thee to Cetho, then?’ he asked.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>She had rehearsed the answer to this what felt like a thousand times on the journey, but she still had no idea of how he would react.</p>
<p>Csevean took a breath, and explained. How she had been doing fine with the money he was sending, putting some of it aside and using it sensibly; then it went up, the last autumn, and so she put a little more to one side for emergencies and wondered what had happened; and then, only a few weeks ago, it had gone up again. It had been such a large amount she hadn’t known what to do with it; it had gone around the village and their father had found out, and drunkenly accused her of… well, a number of things she didn’t think Csevet needed to hear, and she was stood their listening to insult after insult when she realised she had enough coin to walk away. So she did.</p>
<p>‘I left enough that he should be well enough if he bothers to get himself moving,’ she said, and saw in Csevet’s face that they both knew he wouldn’t. But that wasn’t her problem anymore. ‘And then I made my way here. Figured thou shouldst know not to keep sending money – or at least, not to my name. And… and I wanted to see thee,’ she added truthfully. ‘I’ve missed thee.’</p>
<p>She remembered their last conversation – twelve years old and both furious with each other for all the wrong reasons. She’d regretted it for a long time.</p>
<p>‘I’ve missed thee too,’ he said softly, and she felt relief blossom in her chest.</p>
<p>‘What about thee, then?’ she asked. ‘What has brought thou such good fortune that it rippled all the way out to Avio?’</p>
<p>Csevet blew out his breath and made a face, and the animation of it reminded her so strongly of their childhood together that it almost hurt.</p>
<p>‘Oh, this and that,’ he said, awkward. ‘What did Finno tell thee about me? Or thy landlady?’</p>
<p>Csevean frowned.</p>
<p>‘Nothing, really – Finno was nice but just said either she’d be in touch or thou wouldst; and the landlady I haven’t really seen, I was out all yesterday and today. Wanted to see the city. Why?’</p>
<p>Csevet pulled another face.</p>
<p>‘Thou art right,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m not… things have changed for me, lately. And it’s just… I didn’t exactly get my position traditionally… it’s kind of,’ he gave a huff of uncertain laughter, ‘a funny story, I suppose…’ he trailed off, looking at her, and she could see he was trying to decide whether or not to explain.</p>
<p><em>Well, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought of this possibility</em>, she thought.<em> It was far too much money. </em>Csevean steeled herself and then tried to look as though she hadn’t. She didn’t want him to think she needed to try too hard to accept this. But it was hard to find the right words, and she had several false starts.</p>
<p>‘Csevet, I want thee to – I promise, whatever it is thou hast – however thou has gone about things, it doesn’t matter –’</p>
<p>‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He was staring at her, and suddenly she could not read his expression at all. <em>I should know it like my own,</em> she thought, distressed. She forced her thoughts into some semblance of order.</p>
<p>‘Well. I know our father said some… things to thee, before you left,’ she tried, ‘and I want thee to know that I don’t agree with him. I’m not going to be silly about it, however thou might have gained thy position –’</p>
<p>‘And I suppose I can’t possibly have gotten a position paying this highly except on my back, is that it?’</p>
<p>‘I didn’t say that – Csevet –’</p>
<p>‘If thou hast already made thy mind up about what I’m doing, maybe we shouldn’t even bother having this conversation.’</p>
<p>‘Csevet wait – please.’</p>
<p>He stopped at the door, his back to her. Csevean bit her lip, knowing she only had one chance to get this right.</p>
<p>‘I only meant – look, thou’rt my brother,’ she said. ‘And I love thee. And I don’t know how thou hast managed to get this far and I <em>don’t care</em> – we’re not in Avio anymore, things are different in the city, and whatever thou hast earned I know thou deservest it. I just... I don’t want thee to worry about how I’ll react. Thou needst not tell me anything, but I don’t want thee to feel like thou hast to keep secrets. We don’t have to be like that.’</p>
<p>There was a pause.</p>
<p>‘I worked as a courier, Csevean,’ he said, still facing away from her. ‘Just a courier. And if thou canst not believe that –’</p>
<p>‘I believe thee,’ she said quickly.</p>
<p>He turned to look her in the eyes; they’d always been unable to lie to one another. That hadn’t changed. He breathed out, nodded, and she relaxed again. She had handled that badly, she knew. But by the look on his face, he was feeling guilty about his own temper, so perhaps they were even.</p>
<p>‘I was asked to carry an important message last year,’ he said, leaning back against the door.</p>
<p>‘What kind of message?’</p>
<p>‘I was to bring the news of the death of Varenechibel IV and his three sons to his youngest son, who was to take the throne.’</p>
<p>‘You met the emperor, then? What was he like?’</p>
<p>Csevet looked, briefly, as though she’d slapped him; then he gathered himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>What was that about?</em>
</p>
<p>He continued to explain, ignoring the odd moment and not answering her question, that he’d then been asked to run a handful of errands for the new emperor when he arrived at court, including convincing the recalcitrant Lord Chancellor to attend on his emperor.</p>
<p>‘Was this the one who got banished because he tried to take the throne?’ she asked, and then smiled a little at his expression.</p>
<p>‘We do get <em>some</em> news in Avio, you know.’</p>
<p>He laughed, and it felt like a victory.</p>
<p>‘Yes, <em>that</em> Lord Chancellor,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t pleased with being ordered about by the new emperor, and he sort of… well, he took it out on me. Said I might as well work for Edrehasivar then, because I certainly had no job with him –’</p>
<p>‘Do couriers work for the Lord Chancellor, then?’ Csevean interrupted, wanting to make sure she had it straight.</p>
<p>Csevet nodded.</p>
<p>‘Yes – well, sort of, it’s more that the courier fleet is one of subdivisions of the chancellery, but effectively – and so when I went back to the emperor, I said that Lord Chavar had suggested my services would be available indefinitely – and he just seemed pleased. And kept me on. And it was temporary to start with, but… now I’m the imperial secretary. So that was one pay rise; the other was this summer, because he and the new Lord Chancellor were rearranging how the secretaries work, and decided I should be paid more.’</p>
<p>Csevet looked a little sheepish at his last words. Csevean opened her mouth, and then closed it again.</p>
<p>
  <em>Imperial Secretary?</em>
</p>
<p>She looked at Csevet, this time paying closer attention. She’d of course noticed he was smartly dressed, but had assumed it was nerves. He’d always preened more when he was nervous, as though looking better could supplement his courage. With the knowledge of his position, she now saw the quality of the clothes in a new light. Smartly cut, and new – and very well-kept, and not overworn because he had the money to have several different outfits rather than wear through one or two. When he had left her he had had three rings in each ear, copper like hers; now he had six, some more ornamented, and they at least looked like silver. Perhaps they were. And his voice… she’d gone walking in Cetho the day before, trying to distract herself, and she’d heard that accent plenty. Not quite the same as the fruit sellers in the market; but like the customers waiting outside the more expensive shops. Precise and refined. <em>A court accent. </em></p>
<p>She tried to think of what to say; it explained a few things, and she was… happy for him. Was she? Yes. <em>Well, then</em>.</p>
<p>‘Congratulations,’ she said.</p>
<p>He gave her a weak, uncertain smile.</p>
<p>‘Thanks.’</p>
<p>‘Thou art – thou art happy?’ she asked, sensing something amiss.</p>
<p>‘Oh! Very much so,’ he said, and at least she knew that was genuine. <em>Good. So what’s eating him? </em>Perhaps it wasn’t wise to push; they barely knew where they stood with one another, after all, and it might have been more sensible to keep the conversation light and practical, and arrange another in a few days. But the weight of eight years separation against twelve years practically joined at the hip… connection won.</p>
<p>‘What’s the emperor like?’ she said, circling back to the thing that had so disconcerted him before.</p>
<p>She saw him hesitate; watched the brief moment where he considered holding back as she had; and then saw him match her decision, because damn it all what was the point?</p>
<p>He let himself slide his back down the door until he was sitting on the floor, and looked at her.</p>
<p>‘He’s perfect,’ he said simply, and then Csevean knew.</p>
<p>‘Oh, <em>Csevet</em>,’ she said.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>They talked for two more hours. Csevet seemed to have been holding onto his feelings interminably long, and the chance to finally talk to someone who wasn’t part of the court had broken all the barriers.</p>
<p>He was circumspect, of course; he explained the secrecy of the Alcethmeret, and told her virtually nothing that would be considered private. But he spoke about his fears, his worries, his feelings for the emperor – for <em>His Serenity</em>, he said, sometimes lapsing into <em>Edrehasivar </em>in a tone that made Csevean’s breath catch. He would interrupt himself intermittently, ask her about the village, and even though she knew he didn’t really want to know she answered to give him time to breathe.</p>
<p>They ended up sitting next to each other by the door, childlike, with her arm wrapped around his shoulders.</p>
<p>‘I can’t believe,’ he said wearily, ‘that I get to see thee again after eight years and the first thing I do is talk about myself for hours. Thou wilt be glad to be rid of me.’</p>
<p>It was a joke, but only half of one. She gave him a shove.</p>
<p>‘I most certainly will not,’ she said. ‘And I’m glad we can talk like we used to. Though the subject has changed, since then.’</p>
<p>‘Just a little.’</p>
<p>‘The smallest bit.’</p>
<p>‘Minutely.’</p>
<p>They laughed, weakly.</p>
<p>‘Tis late,’ he said regretfully. ‘I need to get back up to court lest I miss the last bell.’</p>
<p>Csevean gave him another shove.</p>
<p>‘Get moving then, sluggard,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘Csevet? Wilt come back and see me? I… I don’t know what I’m doing next, and I’m not in a hurry to move on.’</p>
<p>Csevet nodded before she had even finished speaking.</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow or the night after, around the same time? His Serenity’s at dinner, so it’s easy enough.’</p>
<p>She nodded gratefully.</p>
<p>They made their farewells, and then Csevet left. Csevean collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.</p>
<p>
  <em>My brother is in love with the emperor. </em>
</p>
<p>Well, she’d wanted something different, hadn’t she?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. In Starts, Distractedly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter warnings for discussion of grief, and discussion of death of a parent.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belmorigar I, the 51<sup>st</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>Though all the Ethuverazheise emperors would have had arrangements made for their personal security, Belmorigar was the first emperor to have <em>nohecharei</em> in the current understanding of the term – a select group who dedicated their lives to defending the emperor. For his purposes this consisted of a group of eight highly-skilled soldiers who were dedicated to his personal safety and guarded him in two shifts of four.</p><p>Belmorigar formalised much around the imperial position and the Drazhada, and commissioned the first formal ‘History of Drazhardeise Emperors’, copies of which still exist, though the content is highly fictionalised and was likely used as a form of propaganda. Belmorigar’s reign was well-organised and tightly focused on steady gains to his territory, a pattern which characterised his heirs for several generations.</p><p>
  <em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line, sixteenth edition.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>Training and exercise was excellent for clearing the mind, but these days it was not always enough. Deret, his thoughts still twisting and turning, had finished his training for the day and was sat by the fire, working polish into his boots.</p><p>The last year had been disorienting, to say the least. Things seemed to be working out, and both Kiru and the edocharei had remarked positively on how Deret had assisted his Serenity during and after his breakdown, but it wasn’t an area that Deret felt confident in. He hated having to move forward on the basis of his best guess as opposed to solid knowledge. Though he supposed it was promising that he was apparently guessing well.</p><p>He put one boot down with a thump and picked up the second.</p><p>‘What’s biting thee?’</p><p>Deret looked up. Cala was closing the door to the quarters behind him with his foot, an improbable number of books piled in his arms.</p><p>‘Wasn’t expecting thee back for a while yet,’ Deret said. ‘Didst thou actually return any of the books to the library?’</p><p>Cala pulled a face at him.</p><p>‘Of course I did,’ he said, depositing the pile on a side table. ‘These are all new.’</p><p>Deret raised his eyebrows.</p><p>‘As thou sayest.’</p><p>Cala flopped down into the chair between Deret and the fire.</p><p>‘Thou art avoiding the question,’ he said, aiming a gentle kick at Deret’s foot. ‘What’s eating thee? Give it up.’</p><p>Deret made a discontented noise.</p><p>‘I just feel… lost,’ he said, quietly. ‘This year has been hard, and… everyone keeps telling me I’ve been handling things well, talking to His Serenity and that manner of thing. But it doesn’t <em>feel </em>like I’m doing well. I feel like I barely know what I’m doing. Everything is guesswork. I know how to deal with someone trying to <em>stab </em>the emperor or – or – put an arrow in him, but this is…’ he trailed off, frustrated.</p><p>Cala was watching him solemnly.</p><p>‘I think thou hast been doing well, if it helps,’ he offered. ‘Thou wert helpful in the chapel, he told thee so himself. And I had no idea what to do when he broke down in the dining room, but thou – didst not thou tell me that that was part of thy training?’</p><p>‘Sort of.’ Deret heaved a sigh. ‘I’m just sick of feeling uncertain, at having to try my best guess instead of what I <em>know </em>is going to work.’</p><p>‘Thou art far too used to such certainty, hast forgot how rare a thing it is for most of us,’ Cala said with a wry smile.</p><p>‘Bah.’</p><p>The flames in the grate flickered endlessly as Deret watched them. Perhaps he should try meditating? Train more down at the barracks? Visit the retired soldiers and talk to them?</p><p>‘I could find thee a book,’ Cala suggested.</p><p>‘What? Which book?’</p><p>Cala shrugged.</p><p>‘There’s always a book. People study anything. There’ll be something on… oh, nightmares, and stress, and grief, that sort of thing. Might help thee feel that thou hast more of a grip on the subject.’</p><p>Deret frowned, thinking about this. He usually did his learning better in other ways, but it was probably worth trying.</p><p>‘Alright,’ he agreed. ‘My thanks.’</p><p>Cala brightened.</p><p>‘We can go over to the Mazan’theileian library after the next shift, if thou likest,’ he said. ‘I’ll show thee how to find things, it’ll be fun.’</p><p>Deret swallowed down three separate possible evasions. Cala and he had very different ideas of fun ways to spend one’s time.  </p><p>‘Very well then,’ he said instead.</p><p>He expected Cala to delve immediately into his pile of books now the conversation was concluded, but the maza was quiet, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. Deret quirked an eyebrow at him.</p><p>‘I was wondering…’</p><p>‘Wondering?’ Deret prompted when Cala’s voice faded.</p><p>‘There’s… something thou couldst help me with, in turn, perhaps?’</p><p>‘Oh. I’d be glad to help, what is’t?’ Deret asked, curious. Cala rarely asked him for assistance with anything.</p><p>Cala seemed to be struggling to find the words; Deret waited for almost a minute before he finally succeeded.</p><p>‘Thou hast never…’ Cala began, ‘well, in the time I’ve known thee… things go wrong. And both of us have made mistakes. But thine… thou dost not seem troubled by it, exactly. My mistakes eat me alive, but I see thee just… learn and adapt. Thou art better at failing than I am, it seems to hurt thee less, and I was wondering if thou couldst… teach me how?’</p><p>Deret untangled this.</p><p>‘That may well be the least flattering thing I’ve ever been asked,’ he said eventually, ‘but I can try, if thou likest?’</p><p>Cala looked sheepish but grateful, and Deret held back a laugh.</p><p>‘I couldn’t think of another way to phrase it!’</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>~</p><p>Their next slow change took place after dinner. While the emperor was being made ready for bed, Deret arrived ahead of Cala and raised the issue with Kiru as they stood outside the bedchamber door.</p><p>‘Cala needs to learn how to fail,’ Kiru said, smiling. ‘Well, I’m glad he’s worked that out for himself. I was wondering if I should talk to him about it.’</p><p>At Deret’s expression, Kiru gave a little laugh.</p><p>‘Dachenmazei are rare, thou knowest,’ she said, in the tone of one beginning a lengthy explanation. ‘Tis common for there to be no dachenmazei particularly close in age – most of us will be the only dachenmaza for five or six years, at least, and sometimes the gap is wider.’</p><p>‘Cala and Dazhis were close in age,’ Deret said, forcing himself to use the former nohecharis’ name without flinching. He hadn’t had cause to say it aloud in months.</p><p>Kiru conceded to this with a nod.</p><p>‘True. A fluke, really,’ she said. ‘But Dazhis was brought to the Mazan’theileian age nine, and Cala not until he was nearly thirteen – between that and Cala being two years the younger, it was enough to mean they were at very different stages.’</p><p>‘I see.’</p><p>‘The thing is – being so far apart from each other, it means we all get taught alongside the regular maza, who are taking three days to learn things Cala or I can learn in thirty minutes,’ she said. ‘Always top of the class. Always best at everything. And the Athmaz’are focuses on making sure we’re all content and happy, so we get to try things and then pursue what we’re already good at.’</p><p>Deret, brow creased, thought he was beginning to see where this was going.</p><p>‘When I was sixteen, I took my cleric’s vows, and started working at Cetho hospital,’ Kiru continued. ‘I was excited – I knew there would be drudge work, but that was fine. I was prepared.’ She made a face. ‘What I wasn’t prepared for was that I would make mistakes. I cried after every shift for months, I nearly gave up every week – because I’d never got anything wrong before. I’d never been <em>bad</em> at anything before. But I wasn’t using maz for a lot of the drudge tasks, because it wasn’t useful for them, and so suddenly I was having to learn the hard way. And every mistake felt like the end of the world.’</p><p>‘And thou thinkest this is the problem Cala meant?’</p><p>‘I know it is,’ she said wryly. ‘Only thou hast not been faced with it much yet. Hast thou ever tried to teach him anything?’</p><p>Deret thought about this.</p><p>‘I taught him how to have better posture so he didn’t get backache on shift,’ he said. ‘Right near the beginning.’</p><p>‘How did that go? Was he enthusiastic about the idea?’</p><p>Deret gave a small snort of laughter. He had offered after their third shift, seeing Cala stretching and wincing; Cala had vaguely said he would get around to it. It had been four weeks before the maza had come back to him. He said as much to Kiru and she nodded.</p><p>‘Thou had pointed out something he was doing wrong,’ she said. ‘He didn’t know how to handle that, so he ignored it. He came around after a while – he’s not foolish or unreasonable – but it took much longer than it would have taken thee. Soldiers are not free to pursue whatever they are best at, they are all taught to excel at the same set of things. Thou art <em>trained</em> to take correction, like Coris is. It’s a valuable skill.’</p><p>Understanding dawned. Deret nodded slowly.</p><p>‘But how thou art to teach it, I do not know,’ Kiru finished with a shrug.</p><p>‘I might have an idea, actually,’ Deret said thoughtfully. And then there were soft footfalls on the stairs, and Cala arrived.</p><p>‘I’m not late?’ he said, and Deret shook his head.</p><p>‘We were just talking about what thou asked me,’ Deret said. ‘How wouldst thou feel about learning to fight with a sword?’</p><p>Cala stared at him, uncomprehending; then he caught on.</p><p>‘Ah. Something I can practice failing at?’ he said with a smile.</p><p>‘Something thou canst practice failing at.’</p><p>~</p><p>‘Csevet’s out again tonight, so you know,’ Ebremis said over his shoulder to Kiru and Coris as they entered the kitchen. ‘Gone down to Cetho again.’</p><p>‘Thanks, Ebremis,’ Coris said.</p><p>The nohecharei were expected to keep track of the comings and goings of the Upper Alcethmeret staff, and this was the third time this week Csevet had vanished during dinner.</p><p>‘Where’s he off to, do you think?’ Nemer asked curiously, the edocharei having followed Coris and Kiru into the room. ‘It’s not like him to disappear so often.’</p><p>Kiru, whom Csevet had told where he was going so he could be reached if Himself asked, kept it to herself.</p><p>‘Himself all settled in for the night?’ she asked, changing the subject.</p><p>‘Mm, he seems a little better today,’ Esha said, taking a seat at the kitchen table and picking at the leftovers in the middle. ‘Were you in for his conversation with Dornar?’</p><p>‘About mourning colours?’ Kiru asked. ‘Yes, I was.’</p><p>Edrehasivar could not wear traditional mourning for Chenelo now, not without facing public scrutiny; he had been prevented from completing formal mourning for when she had died. Mer Dornar had suggested that he wear a layer of black beneath his outer clothes for the traditional duration of familial mourning. Mourning in private, to acknowledge the time the process would take and the weight that he must carry in the meantime.</p><p>‘It’s a good idea,’ Avris said, after Esha had explained it to the rest of the room. ‘He seems settled by it. And he’s easily chilled so he’d be in layers anyway, it shouldn’t mean he overheats, at least over the winter.’</p><p>‘It’s unfair that he can’t just wear it publicly,’ Isheian said as she wiped down the tables.</p><p>Nemer made an annoyed noise, and Ebremis shook his head.</p><p>‘Agreed,’ he said quietly.</p><p>‘I hate that people are so – so <em>rude</em> about his attachment to her,’ Avris said, leaning against the wall to let Isheian get past. ‘She’s his <em>mother</em>. Is he just supposed to forget, and not be sad anymore?’</p><p>‘They don’t think of who she is to <em>him</em>, only who she is to <em>court</em>,’ Esaran said grimly. ‘A relegated woman, who was only empress in practice for less than a year. But she would have been his whole world, I imagine.’</p><p>‘It’s never easy to lose a parent,’ Kiru said.</p><p>‘No, it’s not.’</p><p>Coris’s voice was quiet, and Kiru winced.</p><p>‘Oh – Coris, I’m sorry. We’ve been being tactless,’ she said, looking at him.</p><p>‘No, it’s all right. I’m not upset.’ Coris gave Kiru a half smile, and then seemed to notice the curious expressions around him. ‘I lost both of mine, and my older brother, when I was ten. Sarroll Fever, when it went through the north-west.’</p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ Ebremis said, and there were nods from the others.</p><p>‘My thanks.’ Coris shifted position, frowning in thought. ‘But the thing is – the thing is – when they died, a neighbour took care of me, while they sent word to my uncle, and she was kind and gave me time and helped me talk a little. And then my uncle took me and he and my aunt were kind and caring and made sure I had everything I needed. And – and it’s not like it didn’t hurt, worse than anything I’ve ever… it hurts past talking about it, honestly. But I was taken care of, and looked after, and I… healed. It’s not easy and it’s… it’s something you always live with, it’s never going to go away, like an old injury, some days it aches and sometimes you catch it at the wrong angle and it hurts like new for a while. But most days it’s okay. You can get on with your life. I got hurt, I got bandaged up and looked after, and while it’s a weak spot it’s healed.’</p><p>The kitchen was very quiet. Coris looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the emperor, several floors above.</p><p>‘He – Himself? He doesn’t have that,’ he said. ‘What he has is an open wound. It’s been open for more than a decade, because that manner of hurt doesn’t heal by itself. It needs treating. And when – at eight years old, no one knows how to do that. Thou must have other people to help thee. And he didn’t have that. And he’s made do, he’s patched things and covered it up and tried to deal with it as best he can, but at the end of the day he’s never had the care he needed. And now it’s been so long that he’s ashamed it isn’t fixed, because everyone else would be fixed by now, but it’s not his fault – Nelar was a horror, and there <em>wasn’t</em> anyone else.’</p><p>Silence. Coris was a quiet sort of person, and this wasn’t a subject Kiru had heard him raise in detail before. Esha reached over and put a hand on Coris’s arm; Coris gave him a smile.</p><p>‘Really, I am well,’ he said. ‘It just – with everything he’s been going through lately, I’ve been thinking about it.’</p><p>‘I wish we could help,’ Nemer said, always the voice of what everyone was thinking.</p><p>‘He’ll get there,’ Kiru said quietly. ‘He needs time, and care, and he’ll have that here.’</p><p>‘In the meantime, it’s late, and we’re all for early rising in the morning,’ Esaran said, standing from her desk. The kitchen moved almost as one, tidying odds and ends away and slipping out into the corridors of the nest to sleep.</p><p>~</p><p>Time passed, as it tends to.</p><p>With the autumn well underway and the start of winter on the horizon, the first year of the reign of Edrehasivar VII was complete.</p><p>He was visiting the chapel several times a week, now; Csethiro had even joined him once, briefly, out of curiosity. She found the quiet peaceful but a little too restrictive. Not comfortable for her, but she was glad that he found solace in it, something to steady himself with. Maia was… managing, some days with more difficulties than others. Determined to help, Csethiro made certain the rest of the family was spending time with him. The only person they had told about Chenelo was Arbelan, for the moment, though Csethiro was privately of the opinion that Vedero should be told, as well as Idra and his sisters when they were adults. But it was still too raw to push the matter with Maia; she thought to raise it again in the spring.</p><p>
  <em>Spring.</em>
</p><p>Spring would be when their child was due, almost a year since their marriage. Csethiro had waited a week after the news about Chenelo broke, agonising between not wanting to keep secrets from Maia and wanting to tell him when he wasn’t drowning in grief and had at least a little room for joy. She still wasn’t certain she’d timed it correctly; but if she hadn’t, he had forgiven her. She had also forgiven him for checking on her incessantly for the first two weeks that he’d known, to the point of absurdity, before backing down and meekly saying he would confine his questions to Kiru Athmaza from then on. So they were on an even keel, small squalls notwithstanding. They even had names – Chenet, for a boy, after Maia’s mother; Evelo, for a girl, after Csethiro’s.</p><p>The two of them dined together twice a week, once with Arbelan and sometimes Vedero, once with just the two of them. Maia had also limited his post-dinner events with the court to twice a week, and this seemed to have at least slightly improved his capacity for enjoying them.</p><p>Unlike the early onset of the previous winter, this one was hesitant, with the occasional warmer day interrupting it. On one such night, after dining together, Maia and Csethiro took a walk in the Alcethmeret gardens. It was cool, but bearable when well-wrapped up, and it was good to take in the fresh air.</p><p>Csethiro, who had been looking up at the sky, glanced back at Maia to see his brow furrowed in thought.</p><p>‘What art thou trying to puzzle out at this time of the evening?’ she asked, her tone light.</p><p>‘Oh, I – I just… I don’t know how to…’ Maia made a face that he probably did not realise was endearing, and tried again. ‘I need to work out how to say something publicly.’</p><p>‘I’m sure Mer Aisava could help thee with that,’ Csethiro said.</p><p>Maia shook his head emphatically.</p><p>‘Oh, no, this is a… personal matter. Mer Aisava is very helpful on the professional front. But it would be inappropriate.’ He sounded uncertain.</p><p>‘Well then, ask me.’</p><p>‘It seems a little… impolite to ask thee.’</p><p>‘Why? Am I to be publicly declaimed?’ Csethiro asked, grinning.</p><p>‘No!’ Maia exclaimed, before laughing sheepishly. ‘No, at the party the day after tomorrow. I need to officially announce the pregnancy and I… I am struggling to work out what to say.’</p><p>Csethiro raised her eyebrows.</p><p>‘Thou knowest I’ve no skill with oratory,’ he said apologetically.</p><p>‘Tis hardly a speech!’ she teased.</p><p>‘That’s worse!’ he insisted. ‘If ‘twere a speech, I could rehearse it; it would be acceptable for it to <em>sound</em> rehearsed, or even be read from a paper. And if the delivery was stilted, the quality of the speech could make up for it. But this must sound natural, and genuine, and I have no skill to improvise.’</p><p>He sounded so plaintive that Csethiro made a sympathetic noise and gave him a kiss on the cheek.</p><p>‘Well,’ she began as they strolled on, ‘how wouldst thou say it if the manner of it did not matter, only the content? What hast thou come up with so far?’</p><p>Maia sighed.</p><p>‘My wife – lovely – pregnant – very happy?’ he said, gesturing vaguely and uncomfortably.</p><p>Csethiro burst out laughing; Maia joined her a few seconds later.</p><p>‘I don’t know what thou art worrying for, I think thy every speech should be spoken like that,’ she managed, still giggling.</p><p>Maia shook his head without looking displeased. ‘Mm, ‘twould be very successful. Very dignified.’</p><p>‘This bridge – lovely – pregnant – very happy!’ Csethiro said in a mock-pompous tone, at which point both of them lost themselves to laughter again.</p><p>‘I don’t know!’ Maia shook his head. ‘‘Tis such a strange thing to announce. “Well, as you all know, because you’ve all been avidly watching our every interaction in public, our wife and ourself have been getting on splendidly and we’re proud to say there’s been a consequence”.’</p><p>Csethiro, still giggling, managed her own suggestion.</p><p>‘Good news everyone, you’ve known babies? We believe we’ve discovered the cause!’</p><p>Maia broke into laughter again, wheezing. Csethiro was fleetingly glad of the privacy of the Alcethmeret gardens, that no one could walk past and wonder why the zhas and zhasan were stopped halfway along a path, practically bent in half with laughter.</p><p>Gradually, the hysterics wore away. Csethiro, chest aching from laughter, looped her arm back around Maia’s and they walked on as they caught their breath.</p><p>When she was certain she was not going to start laughing again, she spoke.</p><p>‘Here is how thou speaks: “I am delighted –” – thou art delighted, I take it?’ she asked, teasingly.</p><p>‘Very much so,’ Maia said, pulling her a little closer and giving her a warm smile. Csethiro smiled back.</p><p>‘Then, as follows: “I am delighted to announce that our wife and ourself are expecting a child in the spring.” And then some helpful person will probably call “to the Drazhada” and all but I will get to have some wine, and ‘twill all be over.’</p><p>‘Thou art overflowing with wisdom.’</p><p>‘I <em>am</em>, aren’t I?’</p><p>Maia squeezed her arm, and she lent her head briefly onto his shoulder. They completed their loop; to Csethiro’s surprised, Maia kept walking, as though to take the route again.</p><p>‘Needst more air than usual?’ she asked lightly.</p><p>‘I wanted to… talk to thee about something,’ he said. ‘To do with the kerich agreement.’</p><p>He sounded nervous.</p><p>‘About me, or about thee?’ she asked, her tone neutral; she trusted Maia, and she loved him, but could not entirely ignore the <em>what if</em>…</p><p>‘About me,’ he said, and added sheepishly, ‘for thou seemst to have everything in hand on thy side.’</p><p>Csethiro relaxed. That was true enough. She was very much enjoying flirting with Osmin Asru Ballenin, and while she did not intend to go very far with it on this occasion it was good to know that she could. Maia, on the other hand, had been <em>very </em>quiet.</p><p>Csethiro gave his arm a gentle squeeze.</p><p>‘Out with it, then. Thou has a fondness for someone, then?’</p><p>She was privately a little surprised, but that was more at Maia sharing his feelings than Maia having them. Whatever this was, it was serious.</p><p>‘I… I do, yes.’</p><p>Silence for a minute or so, until Csethiro’s patience ran out and she tugged at his arm.</p><p>‘Well? Wilt thou tell me or is that all thou art going to say?’ she said gently.</p><p>Maia’s darker skin didn’t show a blush, but she could tell anyway from the way his expression changed and his ears flicked.</p><p>‘I… I have grown to realise my feelings for… someone,’ he said. ‘But it is not someone I can… pursue. I just – I understand if thou wouldst rather I not discuss it in detail, but I wanted to tell… someone. To see if it helped me clear my head.’</p><p>Csethiro nodded. They walked further in silence as she thought about her feelings on the subject; then she nudged him over to a bench. It was not so cold as they could not sit for a few minutes. She twisted in her seat so she could face him, then gently wrapped both his hands in hers.</p><p>‘Tell me everything,’ she said. And to her surprise, it was easy both to listen and to sympathise.</p><p>‘…so ‘tis impossible,’ Maia concluded wearily. ‘But now I’ve noticed, I’m worrying all the time whether I’m giving it away. And I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. I know it will pass. It – it will pass, dost thou think?’</p><p>Csethiro moved closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>‘I think it… might,’ she said, and gave him a sympathetic squeeze when he sighed. ‘But the two of you are always together, that will keep it fresh for a long time; and if it’s love, which it seems like it is, then it will be even longer.’</p><p>Maia buried his head in his hands and made an incoherent noise of distress. Csethiro bit her lip, caught between sympathy and amusement.</p><p>‘It isn’t entirely impossible, though,’ she said quietly. ‘The power difference is… dramatic. But the power I have over Asru is dramatic too, and we manage.’</p><p>‘Thou art not – Asru Ballenin does not <em>work for thee</em>. Thou art her empress but…’</p><p>Csethiro conceded to this with a wave of a hand.</p><p>‘I know, it isn’t the same,’ she said. ‘And I think thou art right to be wary. But it bears considering; if it were to be done, what would be the problems and what would be the solutions?’</p><p>Maia was shaking his head.</p><p>‘Why delve into it at all, as though ‘twere even possible?’ he said.</p><p>‘Because,’ Csethiro said firmly, ‘any dalliance thou hast will have similar problems, to a lesser or greater extent. Mer Aisava is an extreme example, and therefore is useful to use as a template.’</p><p>Maia pulled a face, but Csethiro could see she’d won her point.</p><p>‘Very well,’ he said grudgingly. ‘How wouldst thou approach it?’</p><p>‘In the warm, to begin with,’ she said. ‘Shall we retire? Then I can think about it and we’ll talk it over in the bedroom.’</p><p>Maia agreed to this, and forty-five minutes later they were bundled up together in the imperial bed, the curtains shut, and Maia’s head resting on her shoulder, her hand toying with his sleep braid.</p><p>They never talked long like this, but it felt more private than the gardens, and Csethiro outlined her thoughts as Maia offered suggestions. The movement of money to somewhere Maia could not access it but Mer Aisava could, enabling him security if he decided to leave the court; a prewritten letter of recommendation given into his keeping so that Maia could not eat his words if they argued; careful measures to maintain privacy…</p><p>‘Obviously this is hypothetical,’ Maia said for the fourth time, and Csethiro made a frustrated noise.</p><p>‘I know, Maia,’ she said, kissing him on the top of the head. ‘Thou hast only said so a thousand times. I think it’s admirable that thou art so careful. I just think it’s better to think these things <em>through</em> even if they aren’t achievable. They’re worth understanding.’</p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>What she carefully didn’t say, as Maia slid gently into sleep beside her, was that she was not entirely certain it <em>was </em>entirely hypothetical. It was clear that Maia had no idea Mer Aisava was marnis, but Csethiro had that as a matter of fact. And the man was awfully dedicated to Maia… that could be Alcethmeret standards, of course, the whole household seemed fond of their emperor, but… well. From where she was standing it seemed a great deal less impossible than Maia thought.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi folks! As I’m heading back to work this month, I’m going to put this fic on (very temporary) hiatus – I’ve been using my usual workdays to write it, and this is going to throw my schedule sideways so I want to take some time partly to get ahead and partly to take a break. The next chapter of this fic will be posted on Tuesday 27th April. If that changes I'll add a note to the summary. Thank you for all the lovely comments and support you’ve given me so far, and I hope to see you then!</p><p>UPDATE: Due to some IRL chaos, I've had to push my posting back a week. On the plus side, that means I won't be scrambling desperately to post on time and can actually work on it properly today. The next chapter will be posted on Tuesday 4th May. Hope you are all doing well! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. By a Single Point of Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Belmidar III, the 115<sup>th</sup> Emperor of the Ethuveraz</em>
</p><p>The eldest son and third eldest child of nine, Belmidar III oversaw a great expansion in the size of the Drazhada, and the challenge of finding his siblings, their spouses, and their children all appropriate positions in court was the defining feature of his reign. Popular legend says the high number of family disputes prompted one prominent politician to state ‘the Drazhada are not a family, they are an altercation’.</p><p>While Belmidar III suffered no direct challenges to his throne, the constant adversity among his various relations and lack of reliable familial support severely limited his ability to pursue imperial policy and act as an emperor should. He achieved little in his reign that was not minimal or ultimately reversed, and his frequent changes in stance to accommodate the changing battlefield of the family caused him to be viewed as unreliable and even amoral.</p><p>He was survived by a singular son, and had no other children.</p><p><em>Helcoru’s Guide to the Imperial Line</em>, sixteenth edition.</p><p>~</p><p>When she was small, she had dreamt of being forgotten.</p><p>With three brothers, it was easy enough to glimpse what it could be like. Nemolis took the largest portion of attention from everyone, as the boy who would be emperor. Nazhira and Ciris were also beacons of the future: they would become strong men, expansions of the Drazhada, lending stability to the empire by their very existence for years to come. The girls of the court fawned and fussed over them all, even when they were young. And her older sister, Nemriän – well, she was playing the game already when Vedero was small, courting and flirting and enjoying the competition of the young men. Vedero was additional, spare; or that was how she had felt. And it had been a wonderful kind of freedom.</p><p>As long as she was quiet and well-behaved when anyone was watching, they did not look too hard at what she was reading. The Alcethmeret library was full of fascinations for a growing mind, and she delved into every one of them with joy and fascination. Botany, history, medicine, theory of maz, natural philosophy, and of course: astronomy. When she was nine years old, she learnt that people travelling at sea could navigate by the stars. Could look up at the fathomless depths of the sky and see direction, purpose. Truth.</p><p>
  <em>Freedom.</em>
</p><p>She was nine years old, and she had seen how things could be.</p><p>And then she grew up.</p><p>The court navigated not by stars; the court navigated not at all. The court was steered by her father, His Imperial Serenity Varenechibel IV, in the direction of his choosing, with the Corazhas and the parliament squabbling as they did so. No one looked up in the Untheileneise Court.</p><p>As she turned thirteen and was formally introduced to court, she shut her studies away. She did not stop them – no, she was too stubborn for that. But she had no desire to see them taken from her either, and so she hid them, pursuing them only in private. She held little gatherings with like-minded friends, swearing them to secrecy and swapping books when they were meant to be gossiping and embroidering. Her brothers almost certainly suspected, of course; but they all knew what Varenechibel was like, and so none of them spoke of it. No opposition from her siblings, but no direct support either – it was too risky. Slowly, she drew in on herself.</p><p>She was angry with them, often. They seemed to have it so easy, particularly her brothers. They complained about having to marry, of course; Nemolis with only his eyes, for he and Vedero shared a certain stoicness, but Nazhira with frustration and Ciris with humour. They thought she felt much the same, she supposed. But they had no idea. No idea how different it was – they would not have to leave their family and join another, they would not be left to dangle at the whims of an unfamiliar man, they did not risk losing the entirety of their identity to a stranger. And they stood a chance of actually finding the person they would marry appealing. Vedero had no interest in men.</p><p>Nemriän took a great deal of the pressure off for a while – she spun at the centre of a web of gossip, Varenechibel’s first daughter, the darling of the court. Vedero and she had always had an uncertain relationship – Nemriän kept Vedero out of the centre of attention, which they both preferred for very different reasons, and that was a plus. But they were too far apart in age to have really grown up together, and so they watched each other from a distance, careful not to get too close.</p><p>But a life in the background could not last, not for a daughter of the emperor, and slowly the strands of the web began to grow tense around her. She studied more and more, avoiding her brothers out of anger, bitterly glad that her only sister had married and moved a great distance away, for it gave her more time. The more she could study now, the more she would have to sustain herself with for the rest of her life.</p><p>She was still angry with them when their airship crashed.</p><p>Like most of the court, realising the identity of the next emperor was jarring. The instinct was to look to Idra, despite his age – he had friends at court, was already being seen as a future emperor, and he was the only male member of the core imperial family left. And then, with a guilty little jolt, one remembered Maia.</p><p>Vedero had attended his mother’s funeral, of course, but that had been a public event. And a public event meant public behaviour – no peering around to investigate one’s fourth brother, even if he hadn’t been despised by one’s father. And he had been too young to attend the wake. So she had never met him, nor even really seen him. And suddenly there he was, liberated from the mists of the Edonara like some unwanted token of the abruptly uncertain future.</p><p>She had been angry with him, too. First on principle, for being alive when her older brothers were not; then in person, for being kind. For asking what <em>she</em> wanted, as though that was allowed to matter. For promising hope when she knew it could not be realised. Did he not understand how <em>painful </em>that was?</p><p>
  <em>Study the stars. - M.</em>
</p><p>She’d nearly torn the note up and thrown it in the fire, it had made her so angry. <em>He risks the stability of the country for a nicety</em>, she fumed to herself, <em>he makes a mockery of tradition</em>.</p><p>It was some time before she realised that those words were Varenechibel’s, rather than her own. It was a little more time before she realised that Maia made her angry because he frightened her. Because he was willing to attempt that which she had long since refused to dream of.</p><p>The realisation did not sit well.</p><p>She had avoided everyone initially, the excuse of mourning enough to grant her solitude. And then she had avoided Csethiro, and suspected it was mutual. They had been becoming good friends, Csethiro being comparatively new to the little study circles; but she would be empress if Edrehasivar was not a fool, and something about the inevitability of the fact drove both of them apart.</p><p>At Winternight, finally, Vedero had reached out.</p><p>
  <em>We are to be sisters, of a kind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Tis so.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We… are glad of it.</em>
</p><p>Csethiro’s genuine smile had been both warming and a reminder that Vedero should not have waited so long. <em>Too late now. One can only move forward. </em></p><p>Something about the way Maia was with people… worked. He was not their father – could not be further from Varenechibel – but it seemed there were many ways to be an emperor. Vedero watched as he and Csethiro fell closer and closer, under the eyes of the court; but it was more than that. She saw how he was with Idra; and how he was with Mireän and Ino.</p><p>‘Auntie Vedero, thou’lt never guess!’</p><p>‘What is’t?’</p><p>‘Cousin Maia says I can go to university when I grow up!’</p><p>Vedero’s court instincts saved her; her sharp intake of breath evened out too quickly for the children to notice.</p><p>‘That’s wonderful,’ she said, not know what else there was to say. ‘What else have you been doing?’</p><p>She felt a twinge of guilt at the slightly disappointed expression on Mireän’s face, but it couldn’t be helped. She would not have been able to continue the conversation as though everything was normal.</p><p>She meant to seek Maia out and demand an explanation, but he approached her first – asking if she could recommend a tutor for Mireän and Ino.</p><p>‘I know you have a great collection of educated friends,’ he said. ‘And it seems right to ensure that the girls are taught by a woman – it shields them from some accusations of impropriety, and shows them that they can…’ he trailed off, frowning in reach of the right phrase.</p><p>‘Have a future,’ Vedero said softly. ‘It teaches them that an educated woman has a future.’</p><p>And he smiled, a little sadly; and she remembered his words on the rooftop, last winter: <em>We were not considered worth educating either</em>.</p><p>And Vedero had no way of arguing with him, because he was right.</p><p>His changes reached both outwards and inwards. She had lunch with him later that month and found that he seemed to be inspiring the staff to innovation. He showed her the rings on his hands: clever imitations of the michen mura, tricks of the eye made from glass and cloth-of-silver so that they put less pressure on his aching fingers. They had been developed by his edocharei in response to his diagnosis, and she was as impressed as he was.</p><p>She had gradually begun to return to using the Alcethmeret library, and on one early morning she had encountered Cala Athmaza there, hunting through the corner not far from the astronomy section. Aware that the librarian’s presence was only barely enough to make the encounter appropriate, she did not approach but called softly over to him.</p><p>‘What do you look for, Athmaza? We would have thought the Mazan’theileian library more informative than this, on any subject.’</p><p>She had daydreamed about that library as a child, the largest in the Ethuveraz, hoping she would show some sign of maz-ability and be able to attend – but it was not to be. Drazhada did not take the maza test.</p><p>Cala Athmaza straightened, and gave her a respectful bow.</p><p>‘We seek information on the Alcethmeret itself, your grace,’ he said. ‘We believe it is too cold.’</p><p>‘Too cold?’ Vedero asked, curious despite herself. ‘How so?’</p><p>‘The tower was designed with wards running through it,’ the nohecharei replied, and she saw in his eyes the light of pleasure at being able to explain. ‘Indeed, there are even markings and engravings in the stone to make the maz-wards more effective. It is also terribly subject to changes in temperature.’</p><p>Vedero nodded, recalling her father’s complaints about the chill of the tower in winter, the heat in summer.</p><p>‘We suspect this is flaw, rather than design,’ he continued. ‘We are trying to discover if we are correct. If we are, then…’</p><p>‘Then you may be able to effect a repair?’ she asked, impressed.</p><p>He gave her a courteous nod, and she nodded in return before turning back to the shelves.</p><p>Everyone seemed to be changing. Experimenting, developing, exploring. For the first time in her life, Vedero felt hidebound and traditional by comparison. She did not much like it.</p><p>It was the uncertainty that got to her, she thought, curled up in her sitting room and watching the fire. It was hard to know how to be when everything could change.</p><p>
  <em>‘Tis as bad for Maia, if not worse. Look at how much has changed for him, and how well he handles it.</em>
</p><p>That was true. Not always graceful or courtly, nevertheless: Maia <em>managed</em>, pushing on with a kind of stubborn persistence that Vedero could not help but respect. She herself, however, remained a tangle. A knot of jealousy, bitterness, longing, anger, and grief, with her brothers – all <em>four </em>of her brothers – muddled in amongst the loops and twists.</p><p>She took another sip of her tea and closed her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps this year will be better.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>Csevet kept his eyes on his paperwork, but it was hard to avoid flicking them up occasionally. The zhasan had dropped in to speak to the emperor, and he had put aside his paperwork for a few minutes while they talked. Not a lengthy enough engagement for Csevet to absent himself, but certainly not one which he was meant to be attending to.</p><p>The subject was something around books – the zhasan had been reading from the Alcethmeret library, and wanted to suggest something to her husband. It made a nice little break from the work, and she would not linger so long as to make it an inconvenience. Privately, Csevet thought it was good for Edrehasivar. He did tend to spiral in on himself after a while.</p><p>
  <em>Not that I can talk.</em>
</p><p>Csevet was getting better at working in the more ordinary way of the professional secretary, instead of the frantically improvised and desperately performative way he had towards the start. He was beginning to feel as though he might have the grip of the job, and it was starting to feel properly comfortable. With Csevean in Cetho, it was also getting easier to remember that he had a life <em>outside</em> of the court, something that Kiru kept nudging him about. But still, an awful lot of his feelings seemed to spiral in on just one person.</p><p>It was important for a secretary to be able to read his employer’s mood. That was normal. Csevet had carefully catalogued every one of Edrehasivar’s expressions, which probably was not. <em>At least ‘tis thorough?</em> <em>Ha.</em></p><p>There was the face he made when he wanted Csevet or another member of staff to know that <em>I really am not angry, please don’t be upset. </em>There was the one for <em>I am about to ask a question that everyone else knows the answer to and I hate that I don’t. </em>There was one for <em>I have made my decision even though I know everyone else will despise it</em>, and one for <em>this can’t possibly be this simple</em>, and one for <em>I might actually be competent at this for once</em>. One of Csevet’s favourites was the fleeting expression of delight when Edrehasivar worked something out without being told.</p><p>Then there was the expression reserved specifically for the zhasan. Nemer would call it <em>smitten </em>and frequently did in the kitchens. Csevet kept his head down and worked, usually, when the zhas and zhasan were together, but he was curious enough that he occasionally caught a glimpse of it.</p><p><em>Always when she is about to leave.</em> <em>That little indrawn breath and bitten lip, raised ears and slightly widened eyes as though she might just be the most precious thing he has ever seen, and he has to catch one more glimpse of her before she vanishes.</em></p><p><em>Smitten</em> didn’t really do it credit, but Csevet could not come up with a better word. <em>Awed</em> was a little dramatic, <em>fond </em>was too mild… <em>in love </em>was obvious, and somehow not special enough. Or perhaps Csevet was just… spiralling.</p><p>The zhasan left, and Csevet glanced up discreetly to watch that expression light Edrehasivar’s face. Watching the zhas and zhasan together was… well. It ached, and not because he was jealous. Csevet had never been particularly inclined to jealousy. When he cared about someone – when he fell for someone – all he wanted was for them to be happy. And Csethiro zhasan make His Serenity happy. But it still ached, because Csevet wanted to do that too.</p><p>Well, he could do small things. From the pile of paperwork in front of him, Csevet selected the private correspondence: a letter from the Archduchess Vedero, inviting her brother to observe the skies with her again, and two letters from Prince Idra’s sisters, who were being taught their formal writing and had written to their imperial uncle to practice. These he passed over to Edrehasivar.</p><p>‘If we may, Serenity, we will take your finished letter to Marquess Imel and also the signed reports and have them sent out now, if you are finished with them.’</p><p>‘Of course. Thank you, Csevet.’</p><p>Csevet bowed, took the appropriate papers, and made his way to the door. Feeling that some part of his hair had become disordered by the motion, he flicked a quick glance at the mirror by the door as he passed it.</p><p>The emperor, reflected behind him – <em>a little indrawn breath and bitten lip, raised ears and slightly widened eyes </em>–</p><p>Csevet flicked his eyes back to looking straight ahead before Edrehasivar saw, left the room and closed the door behind him. It wasn’t until he was half-way to the pneumatics room that he began to process what he had seen, and if he had not had the railing he thought he might have slid down the rest of the stairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And I'm back! Time off was very helpful, got a few thorny plot problems untangled and a bit more of the rest of the fic planned. Should be back to weekly posts for a little while, though there'll be another short pause in June because I'm on holiday for a couple of weeks. Will let you know when we get there!</p><p>The quote 'We were not considered worth educating either' is from page 452 of the UK paperback edition.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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